Everything Happens To Me
by LauraCynthia
Summary: Everything happens to Leonard McCoy in alphabetical order. This will not be a sickness-only fanfic, though he will get sick sometimes. UPDATE: "Nuisance" - A visiting medical official causes trouble for McCoy and the crew of the Enterprise. (I have since seen "Beyond" but am not sure if I will be incorporating anything from the film into this story series.)
1. Anger

_You just can't win around here._

Leonard folded his arms over his chest and tried to appear asleep. It wouldn't have mattered; Jim was far too busy feigning interest in the pale yellow atmospheric clouds out the window to notice. His mouth was pressed shut in a tight line, and his left shoulder was digging into the window frame, trying to lean as far away from McCoy as possible. He was clearly uncomfortable, but made no move to occupy the half of his seat closest to Leonard.

McCoy gave up the pretense and leaned closer. He let out a quiet breath. "Jim."

"I _don't_ want to talk about it now." The captain's tone left no room for argument. His frown etched deeper lines in his forehead. _Keep doing that and you'll look like a raisin before you're forty._ McCoy tapped the arm of his chair idly, glancing down at the burns on his left hand. He'd have to see to them later; he didn't have his medkit on him at the moment. He wasn't even sure where it was. When the shuttlecraft had lowered close to the ground, he'd just launched himself headfirst towards the door. He'd felt a vice grip squeeze his upper arm and yank him towards a seat near the front before shoving him downwards into it. Certain that Jim was going to stalk to the back and sulk alone, he'd been surprised when the captain stuffed himself into the windowside seat across from his. _What do you think I'm going to do? Jump out the window the minute your back's turned?_

He tried again, easing himself into the middle seat. Kirk flinched and tried to stand, but McCoy put an arm in front of his chest, blocking him. "No. You're not getting away with it this easily. If you've got something to say to me, you can say it _here_. No home court advantage."

Kirk's eyes widened briefly in surprise. _Good._ It didn't last long. The captain put his hands on his knees, readying himself for attack. He leaned forward. "Do you have _any_ idea how much of a hypocrite you are?" His eyes flashed fire.

"What?" McCoy drew back. He hadn't expected _this_. "How do you figure, Jim?" he asked casually. Maybe it _would_ be a better idea to let Kirk chew him out in his office; at least there, he'd have witnesses.

"You know _exactly_ what I'm talking about! Whenever I put my life on the line for something that I believe is important, who's the first one to tell me I'm all kinds of idiot?" McCoy opened his mouth to respond, but Kirk cut him off. "You, Bones. Well, imagine my surprise when Nurse Martin told me you didn't show up for your shift this morning. I thought, maybe he slept in, maybe he's grabbing a coffee and lost track of time. Heaven knows you probably needed a whole _pot_ after being up all last night with those toxin patients. And then," Kirk leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest, looking upwards at the ceiling, "just on a hunch, mind you, I checked the transporter logs. And what do you think I found?"

McCoy sighed. "I think I could hazard a guess."

" _Somebody_ activated a fire alarm nearby, which of course resulted in the transporter crewman on duty leaving the room. Only for about a minute, but that was enough." Kirk drew in a ragged breath. " _Just_ long enough for somebody to sneak into the room and activate the transporter for an unauthorized trip back down to the surface of Tynkusis."

 _Gee, I wonder who_ that _could've been._ He cocked his head to one side. "You know I hate transporters, Jim."

"Yes, we're all aware of your beamophobia. And yet for some reason you beamed down anyway. What I want to know is _why?"_ Kirk stabbed McCoy's chest with his index finger.

" _I had to._ " He closed his eyes and thought back to two days ago.

Tynkusis had seemed like a peaceful planet. The indigenous race, resembling green-striped shrimp with human faces, was friendly and intelligent, and had welcomed the science team with open arms. There was no shortage of flora to sample. Even Spock had seemed to have an extra spring in his step. _Like a kid in a candy store._ The Vulcan had barely examined a pink vine resplendent with pale green flowers when a blue moss growth on the bark of an upside down tree caught his attention.

McCoy hadn't stayed long himself; as of late, he'd slacked off some on his official reports. _Some?_ He'd chuckled to himself. _Got a stack as high as the leaning tower of Pisa, I reckon._ He also had the material for at least 11 medical journal articles to review. _Heck, I could write a book by now._ So, begging off, he'd flown back in the shuttle with Sulu that day, looking forward to clearing his to do list.

He didn't even make it back to the shuttlebay before his comm began to chirp. The sound of Science Technician Murphy's hacking cough echoed into his ear in the background as a frantic Ensign Jalle struggled to be heard above the noise. "He just started choking on nothing, Doctor. I don't know what he's been expo-" Jalle sucked in a breath, making a gurgling noise in the back of her throat before falling to the ground with a loud thump.

"Jalle? Come in!" He'd pressed the button hard with his thumb, but there was no answer. He switched to another channel, only to hear heavy raspy breathing on the other end. Jumping up from his seat, he'd called the _Enterprise._ "McCoy to transporter room. I need emergency beam out of the away team _now_. Something's gotten to them. And you'd better send _me_ directly to sickbay, too."

Instantly, he'd begun dematerializing where he stood, reappearing in his element. The away team members also appeared one by one on biobeds. Medical staff scrambled towards the patients, checking their vital signs and shouting orders for tests and medicine back and forth.

McCoy had approached the side of Jalle's bed. The last time he'd seen the raven-haired science officer, she'd been inquisitively observing a golden butterfly. Now, blue lips provided the only color on her otherwise pale features. She sucked in several shallow breaths in rapid succession. He placed a gentle hand on the young woman's arm as a nurse attempted to stabilize her. "Paula, can you tell me what happened?"

Jalle turned frightened eyes towards him. "It just-I couldn't breathe." She coughed several times, the sound harsh and dry. "Murphy – tried to help him. But-" Jalle's gaze flicked across the room, trying to make eye contact with the ill technician. Murphy was doubled over on his side, wheezing as two medical attendants tried to ease his breathing.

McCoy stepped in front of her line of vision as he scanned her torso with a medical probe. _No internal bleeding...wonder what tox scan'll tell us?_ "Did you touch anything, or taste anything? Try to remember."

Her eyes softened. "He- he showed me a white flower he'd found. Picked it."

 _And put it in your hair._ McCoy saw a white petal in her bangs and reached for a piece of gauze, grabbing the offending flower particle with it. He dropped it on the tray and reached for an oxygen mask, placing it over her nose and mouth. "You just relax now. We'll get everything straightened out." He turned to a tall man in a white tunic. "Nurse, get me some dresderatine, about 20 ccs." The man nodded and headed towards a glass cupboard across the room.

His gaze moved across the room, taking in the many ill. Even Spock was pale and shaking as he leaned forward on the edge of his bed, though he seemed stronger than the others. McCoy frowned. _Definitely some kind of poison. We're looking at lung damage, maybe liver, too._ The nurse returned and handed him a hypospray. Without missing a beat, he injected Jalle with it...

After the crewmen had been stabilized, he'd analyzed the flower petal in the laboratory. What he found had chilled him. Not only did the blossom contain a powerful toxin, but it was clearly not natural; several bio-enhancement markers were present. _Somebody altered this thing..._

He'd brought the evidence to Kirk, who had confronted the Tynkusians with their findings. The Tynkusian representative had tried to dodge his questions, but his tail was his tell; it twitched nervously as he denied the accusations. Finally, he had admitted that the flower was part of a program to develop a biological defensive weapon against invaders. It wasn't supposed to grow outside of the government laboratory unless deployed in the event of an emergency, but two weeks ago some samples had gone missing. They'd kept it all hush-hush, expecting that they would be found in some stasis cooler.

When McCoy had heard that, he'd wanted to pound something. _Accident, my foot. More like a field test. No wonder they were so eager to let us touch the plant life. Better us than them._ Kirk had obviously not been pleased with their answers, either, for he had signed off without the usual niceties and immediately announced that no further teams would be going planetside.

McCoy had frowned at him. "You didn't even ask if he had an antidote."

Kirk had sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Right now, I wouldn't trust _anything_ those guys would have to say. Would _you_?"

"Of course not! But I've got 13 people up in sickbay who'd consider it worth a _shot_. I've never seen a toxin that sophisticated. You think it's out of your system and then it reorganizes its proteins and attacks you again. We're talking an army in a vial here. I've got everyone on dialysis, but it's only a matter of time before their organs begin to deteriorate."

Kirk leaned on his elbow. "You can't synthesize something?"

"Oh, sure. In a couple of weeks, _maybe_ I could. Meanwhile, thirteen good people are gasping for breath, racked with pain. They're _suffering,_ Jim, and if there's a chance that we could alleviate their condition, I think we should take it."

Kirk had looked him in the eye. "I trust _you,_ Bones. You and your staff. We're not out here to start a war, much as the Tynkusians might try to start one. I expect you to obey my orders. Every minute you spend arguing with me is one less minute to find a solution on your own. Now go; I _don't_ want to hear any more about this."

So McCoy had exited the captain's office, prepared to do just that. Much as it ate at him, he knew that Kirk wouldn't change his mind on this one. The Tynkusians were clearly capable of waging war on the Federation if they so chose, judging by this one weapon alone.

He'd stepped into the turbolift and sunk into the wall with a loud sigh. "Sickbay." _So what am I supposed to do? I know they have it, I know they won't give it to us if we begged, and I know Jim wouldn't dare beg._ Heck, he'd probably just take it. _If_ he knew where it was.

McCoy could hazard a guess. _Barely stayed down there long enough to get my passport stamped._ There was only one building he _had_ seen that even remotely resembled a military installation. It was on a slight incline overlooking the woods where the science team had encountered the toxic flowers. At least he thought it was military; maybe they decorated their mountain cabins in Early Maximum Security.

Yep, Jim would go in with guns blazing and snatch it out of the lab in no time.

Then McCoy had an odd thought; _I could do that._

It nagged him all the way back to sickbay, but he managed to put it out of his mind. Until Ensign Jalle had seized right in front of him, almost throwing herself out of the bed with the violence of it. They'd managed to get her stabilized again, and McCoy had ordered a comprehensive battery of tests. All the scans had pointed to the same thing.

 _"_ _It's attacking her brain now. No telling what she'll be like if she wakes."_ Medical Technician Lounak's grim voice played over and over in his head like a broken record for the next hour. McCoy had locked himself in his office, pacing back and forth, wearing out the carpet. His fists balled at his sides as he vacillated between positions. _I can't. But I have to. But I can't. But I have to._

He waited until 0400 hours to make his move. An hour previous, he had finally headed to his quarters, claiming fatigue from the day's events. In reality, he had ordered himself a strong coffee from the replicator and mentally psyched himself for the upcoming mission. _No backup, no second chances...it's all you, Leonard._ This thought alone made his mind reel; were it not for his mental picture of a seizing Jalle, he might've lost his nerve altogether. After making sure he had plenty of ammo in his phaser rifle, he slipped out of his quarters, tricorder holstered..

The transporter officer had been easy to distract; McCoy was glad he didn't have to clunk him on the head this time. Adjusting the controls, he'd stepped onto the pad, the rifle strapped to his back. He prayed he wouldn't have to use it as the transporter energized.

Dressed all in black, he'd appeared on the planet's surface at the base of a craggy mountain. He'd made good use of his Starfleet stealth training then; sneaking behind rocks and trees and crouching low in the clearings to avoid visual identification. There was a high stone wall surrounding the building. He'd watched the guards patrol for two hours before approaching it and pulling himself up the side of the fortification, bit by bit.

He'd almost panicked when a loose stone had shifted under his feet halfway up, sending chips of rock and dust to the ground below; he was certain that the patrolmen could hear his heart thudding in his chest. He held his breath for ten agonizing minutes before continuing slowly and carefully up the side. His arms shook and his hands were tingling from squeezing the bricks so hard, but with a mighty heave he boosted himself over the edge, swinging first one leg and then the next across the top of the wall.

He nearly lost his nerve when he realized that it was at least a 10 foot drop to the bottom. _Think Jim. Think Jim._ He squinted his eyes shut and leapt, landing in the courtyard with a soft thump. _Phew. Now to get inside._ He waited until one of the patrolmen entered the building and slipped in silently after him, hiding behind a large twisted support pillar in the lobby.

 _Come on, don't you people ever go home?_ As if on cue, a Tynkusian scientist entered the lobby from the other direction, nodding at the guard as he made his way toward the entrance. McCoy had jumped out of the shadows and grabbed him in a chokehold, rendering the man unconscious. He'd searched the man's uniform for an ID badge. Once he found what he was looking for, he'd checked the building map and used the borrowed ID to access the bio labs.

Everything was labelled with pictograms, so when he came to a fridge marked with a cross, he'd crossed his fingers. Sure enough, a tiny vial of blue serum labelled with an image of the white flowers on it was nestled right next to a large bottle of clear liquid. A quick tricorder scan confirmed that its contents were consistent with an antitoxin. He'd grabbed it and closed the fridge, dashing for the exit.

And running smack into a Tynkusian guard.

The man barked something at him, his limp lips flapping, his tail stiff. He'd grabbed McCoy by the neck and squeezed hard, but McCoy was quicker. He'd thrust his foot into the man's sensitive stomach, cracking him over the head with his tricorder when he bent over. Another guard appeared behind him and raised his wide-barreled weapon. McCoy ducked just in time, pumping two phaser rifle stun shots into his chest. The man flopped over, but not before his webbed appendage set off the security alarm.

 _Crud_. _Gotta go._ He barrelled down the hallway, legs pumping, the precious serum in his pocket. He could hear the thump of the security patrol chasing him, the whine of their weapon fire flying past his head. He hesitated once in the hallway, trying to remember which corridor led outside. A streak of green fire singed his hand. "Ahh!" _No time to be wrong_. _Go, go, go!_

He skidded past the scientist he'd felled earlier and out the door, not stopping to look back. The guards that had now taken up positions near the doorway joined the chase. McCoy shot the lock off the front gate and tore down the driveway at lightning speed. He'd reached for his comm out of habit, only to stiffen when he realized that it wasn't there. _Though I packed it! And nobody knows where I am. I'll be dead before anybody realizes I'm missing. Oh no. Oh_ no...

A bright light descending from the dark night sky stopped him in his tracks. He shielded his eyes with his hand, dread making the pit of his stomach grow cold. _Now they're coming on all sides! I'm sunk!_ It was only after the troop of Tynkusian guards burst through the clearing that he noticed the open door of the shuttlecraft lowering in front of him. _You're kidding me..._

McCoy pulled the vial in question out of his pocket and held it up in front of Kirk's face. "Some things are worth the risk, Jim. I thought you'd have realized that by now." He dropped it in the captain's palm and leaned back against his seat.

Kirk studied it for a second, relaxing with a sigh. "Breaking into a secure military facility, stealing a top-secret antidote? You realize you've probably started a war, Bones." He waggled the vial from side to side, arching an eyebrow at the doctor.

"I wouldn't be too sure about that, Jim." McCoy looked away, staring at his fingernails instead.

"How do you figure?"

McCoy smiled. "If _one man_ was able to get past all that high security, outrun an entire guard troop, and seize a classified cure, do you really think they'd be itching to _brag_ about it?" He paused as Kirk considered this. "Come on, you know I'm right."

A slow grin spread across Kirk's face. He began to laugh. "You might have a point, Doctor." The captain put a hand on McCoy's shoulder. "Besides, you don't exactly look like the black ops type, anyway."

McCoy sighed with relief. "I should be insulted by that, Jim. But in the interest of intergalactic peace, I'll just say we're even." He leaned in the direction of the cockpit and cupped his hands around his mouth. "Hurry it up, Sulu. I've got an antidote to administer."


	2. Biohazard

Leonard McCoy popped the lid off the unlabelled vial and took a cursory sniff. The acrid scent of ammonia hit his nostrils, causing his eyes to squint shut. _Ugh. Suspicion confirmed._ The clear yellow liquid was definitely human urine. He shook his head in distaste. _Which idiot medical tech misplaced_ this _?_ For a brief second, he considered scanning the contents to determine exactly whose it was. _Not now._

His hand hovered over a small crate filled with refuse before dropping the vial into a temperature-controlled cooler. It shared the container with a Petri dish filled with white mold spores, two round bottles of flammable liquid, and an assortment of various colored soil samples, all unlabelled as well. He'd forward these to the science labs and let them make heads or tails of them.

He shifted backwards on the hard floor, wincing as his lower back made contact with the edge of a shelving unit. There was little room to scooch around in the crowded compartment, but scooch Leonard did, easing himself towards a stack of PADDs in various states of repair. His hand rested upon the top one, causing its display to flicker and appear dimly. He lifted it off the stack." _The Rings of Qerlestes'."_ He tapped the screen to scroll through the first few pages. Pausing on page 13, he read a couple of paragraphs. It was very... _descriptive._

A deep red blush spread across his cheeks as he punched the off button, embarrassed. _Those kinds of details belong only in an anatomy textbook._ He set the PADD aside and briefly checked the others. Among them were a couple of misplaced personal logs and several drafts of the same scientific report, but most were non-functional. He loaded them into an empty crate and stood gingerly to his feet, stretching his arms towards the ceiling. His fingertips grazed the dim lighting panel, and he lowered them again, legs tingling as the blood flow returned to them. "One shelf done and.." He trailed off, staring in dismay at the jumbled mess of _stuff_ everywhere. McCoy sighed. "...at least a dozen left to go." He rubbed his forehead and spread his hands palms upward. "Looking for something? If it hasn't been jettisoned, vaporised, or cannibalized, it'll probably be _here_."

"Here" was Storage Containment Compartment E7-A, or, as most crewmen referred to it, simply, "The Locker". The Locker was a repository for all things lost and found aboard the _Enterprise_ , a veritable black hole from which nothing that wound up in its fathomless depths ever turned up again. Crewmen of all stripes both feared and respected The Locker, approaching it carefully and jamming open the continuously sticky door just long enough to deposit their finds and leave. Even Scotty wouldn't touch it, excusing his refusal with an updated version of some ridiculous seafaring superstition about things that ought not to be disturbed. _Davy Jones, my foot..._

A smile crossed his lips, remembering the way he'd always dismissed the rumors as nothing more than ignorant hogwash. There was nothing supernatural about The Locker; as far as he was concerned, its contents could stay a mystery forever.

That all changed two days ago.

Though volunteering for undesirable tasks was not generally McCoy's department, Lieutenant Harley forced the issue. The slight Canadian communications officer had come into medbay just that morning slung over the shoulder of Hendorff. He'd motioned the security officer towards a biobed, and the man had complied by lowering his cargo down gently.

McCoy studied the ruddy face of the red-headed lieutenant before dropping his gaze to the man's right knee. It was swollen to at least twice its size. He squatted by the bedside and rolled up the officer's pant leg. Harley grimaced as the doctor probed the twisted joint with his fingers, then scanned it with a medical tool, studying the image that appeared on the screen. "We can do better than that. I'll give you something for the pain and then I'll take a closer look." He motioned to a nurse, who nodded and reached for a tray. McCoy grabbed a PADD and brought up Harley's record. "You really twisted it good, Lieutenant." He turned to Hendorff just as the nurse returned with Harley's pain meds, accepting them without missing a beat. "Did you see the accident?"

The officer rubbed the back of his neck. "No, Doctor. I was heading back to the brig when I heard a cry of pain. Found him lying on his back, one foot wedged in an SCC door. Must've tripped backing out."

"Not... _any_ door." Harley sat up and grabbed McCoy's sleeve. "The Locker. I-I'd left a bottle of Flakian _da'leem_ in the rec room and I thought it might be there. My father gave it to me before we left on the five year mission." He groaned and tensed his leg up again. "St-stupid. I caught my f-foot in the door track and tried to- to pull it out. Didn't work. Cursed thing. And the bottle wasn't there, either."

 _Surprise, surprise_. If anyone had found the rare pink brandy-like beverage, chances were good that they would've taken it for themselves. It was quite potent; only a few drops was enough to knock a full-grown man into a drunken stupor; a shot glass could render him unconscious. _Maybe it's a good thing he lost it..._ "Curse it all you like, Lieutenant, if it makes you feel better." He administered the painkiller to Harley. The man's features eased as the drug began to work. "But I've had just about enough of this 'Locker' nonsense." He turned to Hendorff. "That's all, . I'm sure you've got better things to do than observe an arthroscopic imaging scan and repair procedure." The security officer had nodded and left, leaving McCoy with an injured man to tend and a growing determination to do something about it.

He and Jim had been enjoying an early lunch together when he'd first broached the subject . Citing "health and safety concerns", he informed Kirk of his intentions to " _clear out SCC E7-A once and for all._ " The captain had promptly begun choking on his grape juice, snorting half the glass out his nose. After he'd stopped gasping, he had clapped McCoy on the shoulder and wished him the " _best of luck, Bones. You'll need it_ ".

He'd declared to all and sundry that he was boldly going where no crewman dared to stay longer than two minutes. This earned him the wide-eyed admiration of some and sober looks from others. Scotty had called him " _bloody daft_ " and a host of other Scottish names McCoy couldn't decipher, finally promising to play the bagpipes at his funeral. _Dontcha think you're being a little dramatic about this?_ He laughed quietly, but stopped as he saw the way the chief engineer had soberly saluted his retreating back.

McCoy was no fan of tight spaces, and this was no exception. The air was a musty mix of metals, dust, and chemicals. He let out a slow, deep breath and closed his eyes. _I should've brought some air freshener along. Heck, there's probably a can or two underneath all this detritus._ He crouched towards the second last shelf and pushed aside a coiled electrical cord, rattling a jar of bolts. His fingers touched something sticky.

He pulled his hand out and saw a thick, gooey substance. _Kinda like sap._ He brought his fingers to his mouth and stopped short of sticking them in his mouth. _Careful. It's not your mama's refrigerator, Leonard._ Instead, he wiped his hand on his pants and resolved to give the place a good scrubbing after he cleared everything out. He moved to the next shelf. _Odd; it's all over this one, too. And the next._ He frowned. _Where is it coming from?_

McCoy heard a rattling noise and caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned just in time to see a multicrystalline-lens defractor tumble to the floor, ejecting two of its crystals. _What the..._ He leaned down and picked up the tool, studying it. It was easy to see how it had ended up here; besides the two loose crystal lenses, the casing was cracked, and it buzzed harshly when he pressed the switch on the side. He tapped it against the shelving unit, setting it down where it had been previously. He pulled his hand back with a start when the wall began to rattle again, knocking a box of technical components to the ground with a loud _crash!_

Sighing, he pounded on the door. "All right, Jim. You can quit haunting me already. Show's over." McCoy crossed his arms over his chest. It would be just like Jim Kirk to try and yank his chain a little. He bent over and gathered the loose parts into a pile. The door creaked. "I mean it, Jim. Cut it out." Leonard straightened up and approached the door, listening for Kirk's muffled laughter. Nothing. He peered through the gap, but saw only an empty room. He backed up towards the wall. "What'd you do? Put a camera in here to watch the-" _Squish._

He paused, his foot pushing against a firm surface that gave with the pressure. _What am I stepping on?_ McCoy moved his foot forward, pivoting until he was facing the wall shelving. There, in the shadows, a large, amorphous blob slowly oozed from behind a long carbon fibre rod. McCoy backed away slowly, one foot at a time, his mind ping-ponging between curiosity, confusion and dread.

As the creature moved into the light, he noticed several features of its physiology. Its yellow translucent skin allowed him a view of its internal anatomy; tiny particles passed through coiled tubules towards various small organs. A larger central organ was surrounded by a thin film. It was only after he registered the currents of the liquid inside that he realized he was looking at a single-celled organism. _Some kind of giant amoeba_... _but how could it avoid detection for so long?...Dumb question, Leonard; this is "The Locker" we're talking about, after all._..

As the organism inched forward, it pressed against the spilled technical components, sucking a bolt up into its body. McCoy watched in fascination as the little object travelled through the protoplasm towards one of the microtubules, re-emerging in tiny fragments that disseminated throughout its body. _Well, that explains a lot. It would account for its size, for one thing, not to mention all the items that go missing here. Probably one of those samples that got loose. No telling how long it's been shut up inside this compartment._

Several rope-like cilia radiated out from its body, pressing against the floor as it continued to move closer, vacuuming up bits of tech silently. One of the feelers brushed against McCoy's pants hem idly. The contact seemed to stop it in its tracks for a moment. All the hairs on his right ankle stood up at attention as the cilium probed his skin. _Almost like it's..._ tasting _me._ He shivered but remained otherwise frozen. A second cilium reached up to his left knee and coiled around it. As the organism's underside lifted, he noticed for the first time a round gaping opening that grew wider slowly. _A mouth.A big, ugly mouth. Oh, no! I'm a doctor, not your next meal!_

He tried to back away, but the creature maintained its grip. McCoy pressed one hand against the shelf to keep from losing his balance. His breathing came rapid and shallow as he shoved his hand towards his utility belt. The slot normally reserved for his comm was vacant. He shot the creature a glare. _Did you eat that, too?_ Then he remembered; he'd taken out his comm so nobody would bother him during his lunch break. He slapped his forehead. _Idiot. But really, how could you have predicted_ this _?_ He surprised himself with a soft chuckle, which quickly ceased when he felt moist goo soak through his thigh.

The creature had somehow managed to crawl halfway up his body without him noticing it. "Agh!" Any hopes of reaching the door were gone; there was no getting around the amoeba. He balled his right hand into a fist and pounded on the wall of the compartment several times. "Help! Anyone! Get me out of here!" After waiting for what seemed like an eternity, he heard no one coming to his rescue. For the second time in three days, he cursed the stories surrounding The Locker. _This is how I will die. I'll just be another part of the legend. Won't even find my bones..._

He raised his right fist to try again, but cilia curled up his torso, trapping his shoulders and lower left arm. McCoy lost his balance, falling backwards against the shelf hard, his spine pressing against jutting boxes and exposed bolts. The back of his head throbbed where he had bopped it on the shelf's edge. His free hand twisted behind his back, fingers splayed in an open box, desperately trying to find... _what? A hypospray of curare? A fully-charged hand phaser that some careless security officer "misplaced"? Heck, maybe a log recorder so I can make out my will..._

His fingers closed on a slender metal tool, sliding along its length until he came to a small switch. He pressed it, and a loud buzzing noise sounded behind him as the object churned up bits of metal. _The defractor._ He adjusted its settings blindly and the sound grew louder and faster. Heat radiated from the device into his hand.

The amoeba opened its gaping maw once again, ready to absorb McCoy into its body. For a fleeting moment, he imagined himself being consumed, slowly but surely, until his last view of the sickly yellow colored world before him was drowned out by the searing pain of cellular enzymes breaking him down into usable nutrients. _Not today, you disgusting blob of hungry goo! Here goes nothing..._ Moving his arm from behind his back, he jammed the defractor into the creature's underside. The churning crystals acted like a diamond drill, boring through its tough cellular membrane like a hot knife through melted butter. Protoplasm oozed out of the open wound, but McCoy wasn't through. He twisted it a couple of times, and the cilia grew limper, allowing him to free his arms. He released the defractor and rubbed his limbs to bring back the circulation; as he did, the creature sucked the broken tool into its body. McCoy barely had time to register the red warning light that blinked on its readout display.

He covered his face with both hands and braced himself, curling up into a ball. The overheating tool exploded inside the creature, blowing it apart in all directions and covering everything in the compartment, including McCoy, with protoplasm and seared pieces of organelles. Shards of the tool itself were embedded in the door, including several crystals that twinkled like tiny stars in the dim light.

Leonard let out the breath he'd been holding for ages and stood up slowly. Everything hurt, but it was a good kind of pain. The kind that let you know you were still alive. He raked his hands through his hair and removed a stringy cord, tossing it to the floor carelessly.

He whipped his head around when the doors creaked. _Oh, no...there's_ more? Instead, he saw the broad, flat end of a crowbar jamming between them, pushing them apart. "In here!" he shouted to be heard above the noise. "I'm all right. Just get me out!"

With a loud grating noise, the door popped open, and a hand pushed it against the appeared in the doorway, his face switching from dread to relief when he saw his CMO standing in the middle of the debris, shoulders slumped, but clearly alive. "Bones!" Kirk stepped inside the compartment and placed a hand on McCoy's shoulder. "You okay?"

"Sorta."McCoy nodded slowly, wincing when the pain at the back of his head resumed. He reached up to touch it, and pulled his fingers away; they were covered with red blood.

" _'_ _Sorta'_?" Kirk grinned. "C'mon, you'd never let _me_ get away with that. You need somebody else to see to that head wound. Unless you've got _eyes_ in the back of your head, that is." He stepped back, noticing the stains all over the walls and floor for the first time. Kirk tapped an embedded crystal with one finger. "Oooh...what happened here?"

Over the captain's shoulder, McCoy spied a couple of curious security officers hovering around the area. They were staring and pointing at the now-open door of The Locker, shaking their heads in disbelief. He sighed and put his hands on his hips. "I just killed a giant amoeba, that's what."

Kirk frowned. "Good one, Bones. No, seriously, what _did_ happen here?"

"I just told you. Scan it if you don't believe me."

Kirk held his hands out in front of him. "No, no, I believe you. I mean, we _are_ talking about The Locker, after all. I'm just surprised you didn't find a _Gorn_ hiding out in here." He shifted his feet back and forth. "You didn't, did you?" He wiped a sticky hand on his pants, grimacing as he headed for the door, motioning McCoy to come with him. "Eww...does this stuff even come _off_?"

Suddenly, McCoy's medical training kicked in full force. "Halt, Jim."

Kirk stopped in his tracks and turned around. "Huh? I thought you'd want to get out of here as soon as possible."

"Don't leave. And give me your comm." He beckoned to Kirk, who pulled it out, frowning, but didn't extend his hand to McCoy yet. "We've got to lock this thing down. No telling what other protozoans it'd been munching on all this time." He grabbed the comm from Kirk and flipped it open.

Kirk's eyebrows popped up towards his hairline. "Aww, Bones...a quarantine? Really?"

McCoy didn't answer him; he was already in conversation with medbay, calling in a biohazard team and medical staff to see to his injuries, leaving Kirk with the task of instructing the security officers (from a distance) to guard the door.

The next three hours were a blur as a team of science officers took samples and thoroughly cleaned up The Locker, doing a much better job than McCoy could have done on his own. He and Kirk were both given a onceover and dosed with prophylactic meds, much to the captain's dismay; a brief shower followed. Various crew members found excuses to come around, motivated by an odd mixture of fear and curiosity. Even Scotty poked his head in once. When McCoy repeated his story through a speaker attached to the protective force field surrounding the doorway, the engineer had listened intently, finally replying with a low whistle. "That's quite the story, Doctor. Enough to give a banshee the shivers." He punctuated the last word with a shudder.

When he'd exited the room, McCoy slumped back against the open door of the compartment and watched the science officers discuss their findings in low tones. Kirk was sitting on the floor, legs crossed, reading to himself from a PADD. By the look on his face, McCoy was fairly sure that what had caught his interest _wasn't_ scientific in nature.

One of the figures stood up from his kneeling position on the floor and reattached his tricorder to his belt. His serious Vulcan face regarded McCoy with a look that resembled disappointment.

"Why the long face, Spock?" he ventured, crossing his arms over his chest. "I wasn't _that_ badly injured."

Spock's gaze darted over his shoulder briefly. "I am pleased to hear that. My concern is of another nature entirely." He met McCoy's gaze square on.

And then he _knew._ McCoy threw his hands up in the air. "Spock, are you trying to tell me you'd rather I become _amoeba munchies_ than lose the chance to study a new species?"

One eyebrow raised. "Hardly, Doctor. I already expressed my relief at your wellbeing. It is, however, a shame that you could not preserve its life _and_ your own."

McCoy cocked his head sideways. "Fair enough. Mind coming back and telling me that again the next time _you_ get locked in a closet with a monster?"

The other eyebrow. "I do not plan to in the foreseeable future."


	3. Command

He never wanted the chair.

It was difficult enough trying to coordinate the functions of medbay. Not only was he responsible for the health and well-being of over 400 people engaged in one of the most dangerous careers you could ask for, he also frequently found himself having to take a crash course in a brand new set of anatomic parameters. _And not one of those online courses you could finish at leisure, or not. Oh, no._

Only two weeks ago, he and his staff were swamped by the passengers and crew of the _Sca-chul_ , a Ludari colonist vessel. He'd spent 37 hours operating on the incorrect assumption that the highly contagious bacteria they carried had done a number on their respiratory systems. The organs he had classified as lungs were in fact swollen tumours that had grown into their chest cavities, unchecked by a growth control enzyme that was no longer being produced by the symbiotic bacteria. _How was I supposed to know they absorbed air through their feet directly into their bloodstream?_ It was only after Spock melded with one of their doctors, a rather short woman who looked much too young to have gone to medical school, that they were able to treat the tumours and culture more bacteria to treat them.

As much as McCoy found it difficult to tolerate some of Spock's comments and behaviour, no one was more grateful for the first officer's particular Vulcan skills at that moment than he was. _If Spock hadn't made the offer, who knows how many we could have lost?_ For someone who didn't understand their language, the conclusions he drew from the Ludari doctor's impressions were bang-on.

Following the rapid recovery of enough crew members to safely man the ship and treat the remaining ill, the _Sca-chul_ headed back on its trajectory to a planet they referred to as "Unti'sala" with plenty of supplies and a positive opinion of the Federation in general and Starfleet in particular. It was first contacts like these that convinced McCoy that not every race was out to get you, or take what you had. _Refreshing._

He had barely cleared away the last of the samples the Ludari had been kind enough to leave them when a pressurized gas leak in Engineering had resulted in 10 straight hours of burn treatment, respiratory therapy, and neurological scans for one woman who had fallen off a platform when the pipe had burst. _If they put up one of those signs on the ship, "_ days since last accident", we'd never get past one._ Thankfully, all of the injured crewmen were expected to make a full recovery. By the time McCoy had gotten to bed that night, he could barely see straight. _Pajamas be hanged_ was his last thought before he sank into bed, still clad in his bluish-white medical top.

He only managed to sleep for two hours before Nurse Thesin's gravelly voice disturbed his slumber. He'd flailed around for his comm like a drowning fish for two minutes, only to find that she had a concern that one of the boxes of gargrepeline had been mislabelled as _gengeline_ instead. He'd almost dismissed her concern with a " _Snarf...go 'way,_ " when sudden realization made him sit bolt upright in bed.

He had given Ensign Martin Slater, the most severe burn victim, 10 ccs of gengiline to ward off infection from the pressurized burns he'd sustained to his right arm and abdomen. Or so he'd thought. But if it had been gargrepeline instead...

Lightning whipped out the doctor's quarters door and through the halls of the _Enterprise,_ all the way to medbay. Gargrepeline was typically used in 1cc doses to treat neurochemical imbalances in humans, particularly those responsible for depression. In neurologically sound individuals, and with 10 times the concentration, it made a good night's sleep downright impossible. _Precisely what I prescribed for him..._

Sure enough, he'd entered Slater's hospital room to find the man manically pacing around in circles, more than aware even though it was 0134 hours. After coaxing him back to bed, which took half an hour, McCoy administered the correct dosage of a drug which would counteract the effects of the mistake, scanning it first to be sure. He'd then checked all the gargrepeline and gengiline, relabeling where necessary. By this time, it was 0418, and McCoy felt as though he'd downed enough coffee to keep an entire ward awake, even though his last cup had been cold bitter dregs at 2347.

So he'd showered, changed his clothes and come back on shift, expecting to spend most of the morning updating medical records between bites of donuts that somebody had replicated and spread out in one of the empty medical laboratories. He also looked forward to testing the Ludari bacterial enzyme on human cancer cell samples. _We can use all the cures we can get..._

Just as McCoy studied the ominous cells on a magnification screen, his hand poised to add a single drop of enzyme to the dish, his comm chirped. Sighing, he deposited the eyedropper in a beaker and removed his gloves, placing them in a medical waste receptacle. He grabbed his comm and flipped it open, thankful for its germ-resistant coating. "McCoy here."

"Doctor, you are needed on the bridge." Spock's voice held no trace of alarm, nor could McCoy hear any of the alert sirens in the background, or for that matter, cries of pain. With one last look at his interrupted experiment, he pushed the door open and began to head towards the hallway. "Doctor?"

"Sorry, Spock, I got distracted. What's going on?" He passed two security officers heading in the opposite direction.

"Two minutes ago, we received a distress call from the Ludari ship we encountered recently. Though we still cannot decipher much of their language yet, Lieutenant Uhura is certain that their crisis is medical in nature. Therefore-"

"Coming." He ended the call at the same time the Vulcan did, certain that Spock would logically prefer his presence to his voice. His thoughts shifted to the Ludari. _Must've been a relapse...well, we'll find out soon enough._

The turbolift carried him to the bridge in short order. Upon stepping out, he could tell by the way Kirk had vacated his chair and now hovered stiffly near the helm that something else was going on. _The yellow lights kinda give it away, too._ Spock and Uhura were hunched over her console, listening to the Ludari communications, running parsing programs with increased urgency. Other bridge officers studied diagrams and star charts, frowning.

McCoy was about to ask Uhura if she had made any headway with the translations when Pavel Chekov's Russian accent seemed to drown out the low murmur of the crew. "They are wenting plasma at a steady rate, sir. Damage to their primary and secondary engines." Lines briefly crossed his youthful face. "They limped as close to us as they could before momentum vore out." He tapped a couple of buttons.

McCoy studied the scans as they appeared on the viewscreen. He was no engineer, but even he could see that the Ludari ship was circling the drain. Hot spots throughout indicated where energy-based weapons had damaged the ship's hull.

"How soon can we reach them?" Kirk asked, his hand splayed on the console.

Sulu bit his lip, thinking. "Seven minutes if we hurry."

"By all means, do." Sulu nodded and put the ship into warp. Kirk switched on his chairside comm. "Scotty, put together a repair team to board the _Sca-chul_."

"Aye, sir. We'll be ready in two minutes."

Kirk turned to his left and noticed McCoy standing just behind him. "Looks like I called you up here for nothing. You'd better go down and get ready to receive injured."

McCoy didn't move; instead, his eyes were glued to the screen. "Do we know what happened yet, Jim?"

The captain shook his head. "Just that they're in serious trouble."

McCoy rubbed his face with one hand. "Somebody didn't want them to reach their promised land."

Nine hours later, McCoy finally slumped into a chair. His feet felt as though he'd been running barefoot through gravel, which had migrated into his eyes. _Oh, for something stronger than a latte..._

The crew and passengers of the _Sca-chul_ were surprisingly not that worse for wear. _Probably feel better than I do right now..._ Most of the injuries were minor by human standards; only a few had sustained serious burns and fractures. He'd initially pitied the pilot, who had lost an eye when shrapnel had struck him, only to be surprised two hours later that another eye had grown in. Apparently, Ludari eyes were like shark teeth. _What in tarnation favoured_ that _genetic trait?_ _I'll bet they're a hoot at parties._

The ship, on the other hand, was a total write-off. After toiling away tirelessly in the engine section of the _Sca-chul_ , putting out fires and attempting to separate twisted metal parts into something vaguely resembling an engine, Montgomery Scott had thrown up his hands. " _It's nae good...like trying to make boots into broth."_ Upon hearing this, Captain Kirk had offered to ferry the 77 Ludari safely to Unti'sala.

By this time, Lieutenant Uhura had finally found a translation program that seemed to produce rough translations of the Ludari language. Their captain, a tall man who looked more like a redwood tree than a commanding officer, explained that the colony planet lay beyond a region of space that belonged to another race, the Swav. Originally, their flight plan had called for them to bypass Swav space using a roundabout route through an asteroid belt. However, due to an ionic storm that blew up out of nowhere, the _Sca-chul_ 's sensors became confused to the point where they drifted into Swav space.

The Swav were known for being fiercely protective of their territory, so naturally when they detected the colony ship, a refitted older model of armed scout ship, they perceived it as a threat and attacked, driving the _Sca-chul_ out of their space. _To send a message or were they just lucky?_ McCoy imagined it was the latter.

Kirk called a meeting of the senior staff. With the help of her Ludari counterpart, Uhura had translated several Swav transmissions. The news was not good; the Swav had set up an indefinite blockade at the border of their space. Nobody was allowed in or out. Spock and Chekov had worse news; all models of the ionic storm projected that it wouldn't dissipate for another three weeks at _least_.

Kirk spread his hands apart on the table. "Isn't there another way around Swav space?"

Spock shook his head. "Unfortunately, no. The Swav control a large sector of the Yee-Ko system, and patrols often venture as far as nine day's journey at warp seven. I am surprised we have not encountered them ourselves yet." He folded his hands. "I, for one, hope we do not. The best alternative we have is waiting out the storm."

Sulu raised his hand. "That's a long time to remain idle. Don't we stand a much greater chance of running into them if we do?"

Carol Marcus nodded. "Sounds to me like the only way is back." She tapped one fingernail on the table. "They get more supplies, another ship, and we can see Ludari. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't curious about their velidium springs."

"That's 17 days away and back. We might as well stay here and wait for the storm to pass." Kirk frowned. "If a dinky little ex-scout like the _Sca-chul_ can't cross Swav space without getting blasted, what do you think they'd do to the _Enterprise?_ 'Chill out, guys, these aren't phasers, they're'-I don't know-'Christmas lights.'" He laughed humourlessly. "Right. _Boom!_ " He threw his hands apart, mimicking an explosion. "Our options are take 'em home, brave the storm, or sit on our hands."

McCoy's stomach churned. None of those options sounded palatable. He studied Jim's furrowed brow and thoughtful eyes. _My 'little brother' has grown up a lot. What's that, Jim? You're_ not _going to suggest we just ring their doorbell, bold as brass, and_ ask _if they'll let us cross?_ Leonard smiled at the thought. _Yeah, that'll work..._ His laughter died. _That_ could _work. If..._

Before he realized what he was doing, he'd said it. "Why don't we just ask nicely?" Everybody stopped talking and looked at him. "What?"

Kirk tugged at his earlobe. "I'm sorry, did I just hear what I thought I did?"

"It was rather devoid of his usual sarcasm." Spock added. "Surely you are not serious."

"Dead serious. We go in, no weapons. Completely offline." His voice was strong and confident.

Kirk put one hand on his shoulder. "Isn't this the part where you usually say, 'just kidding'?" When McCoy didn't answer, Kirk leaned forward and looked him in the eye. "C'mon, if I'd said it, you'd have relieved me from duty quicker than I could say 'boo'. What're you thinking?"

McCoy smiled. "Do you trust me?"

"Quit pulling at your tunic, Jim."

"But it _itches_." Kirk grabbed at his collar for the third time in as many minutes. He had traded his usual command yellow for a white medical technician's uniform, and was now seated at a propulsion system's readout screen. The other bridge crew members were similarly attired.

McCoy leaned back in the unfamiliar captain's chair and sighed. "It's psychological. That shirt is made from the same stuff your sweater is, and I didn't see you yanking on _that."_

Kirk shifted. "I think I put it on backwards." He looked over his shoulder, then down at his midsection. "Or upside down."

"If it was upside down, you'd have cut off the circulation to your legs by now." McCoy straightened up. "Lt. Uhura –"

Kirk held up a hand. "Hold it, Bones. I'm still captain until we get to the border. Lieutenant, have the Swav spotted us yet?"

She shook her head. "If they have, nobody's talking about it."

"Let me know when they do. Scotty?"

"I've buried the weapons systems as deep as I can in the shielding. It wasn't easy, mind you. Like trying to hide an elephant behind a lamp post."

A smile broke Kirk's otherwise hard look. "Good job."

The engineer laughed nervously. "Wait to say that until _after_ they don't kill us, sir."

Ten minutes later, Sulu turned around. "Approaching the Swav border, sir." His gaze flicked between Kirk and McCoy. "Uh, sirs."

Uhura's head perked up. "Swav transmission. They want us to identify ourselves."

Kirk nodded, waving a hand at McCoy. "Floor's yours, _Captain_."

McCoy straightened his collar and swallowed. "All right. Here goes nothing." He nodded at Uhura. "Go ahead." She switched on the channel and nodded back.

A man with a face that reminded McCoy of an angry frog appeared on the screen. "This is Bari Chopala of the Swav patrol ship _Veer_. You have approached our border. Please state your intentions."

McCoy cleared his throat. "This is _Captain_ Leonard McCoy of the medical ship _Enterprise._ We are requesting permission to pass through your space. We have no interest in acquiring any of your territory; we just want to continue on our way."

Chopala paused. " _Medical_ ship? A clever ruse." He peered at Leonard as though he was a bug he wanted to eat.

McCoy met his stare with one of his own. "Scan our ship and see for yourself. Our weapons are limited, ( _thank you Scotty)_ and we have many injured onboard." That last part was true. _I take back everything I said about being too busy lately..._

The _Veer_ 's captain turned to one of his men, who shouted something back and studied a screen in the back of the ship's bridge area. Sweat ran down McCoy's forehead. He crossed his fingers behind his back. _Everything rides on you. One little tic and he won't care what the scans indicate._ He maintained his firm stance, shooting a glance at Kirk as Chopala looked away. His captain stuck one thumb up under the table. _You can do it, Bones,_ he mouthed.

Chopala returned his gaze to McCoy, his expression unreadable. "It is as you have said." He crossed his arms. "We will let you pass through." McCoy opened his mouth to say something, but the man interrupted. " _With_ two conditions. One, we escort you through to the other side."

"And the other?" McCoy asked.

Chopala's mouth softened. "There is a...research station on the far outreaches of our space. It is under quarantine due to a fever epidemic. Our scientists have never encountered this illness before. We would ask for your assistance in eradicating it."

 _Well, I'll be...guess medicine is a universal currency around here._ He regarded Chopala, putting on his best stern doctor look, and lingered for a few moments. He turned his back on the viewscreen and paced around the bridge. Finally, he looked up, nodding, allowing a small smile to form. "That'd be acceptable to us."

Chopala's features relaxed. "Thank you, Captain."

The next few days flew by. McCoy retained command for the duration of their escorted pass through Swav space. The infection that had struck down their research station turned out to be fairly straightforward; the bug was one that McCoy had encountered on numerous occasions. _When they named it "traveller's diarrhea", I'll bet they never dreamed it would travel_ this _far._

When they had safely left the Swav behind, McCoy let out the breath he'd been holding. He leaned forward. "Mr. Sulu, take-" He stopped as a shadow loomed over the captain's chair. McCoy looked up into the disapproving face of Jim Kirk. "What?"

Kirk crossed his arms over his white clad chest. "Don't you think you're overstaying your welcome, Bones?" He pouted. "I don't see any Swav around, do you?"

McCoy gave him a sheepish grin. "Just keeping it warm, _Nurse_ Kirk." He sat back and rested his head on his arms.

Kirk frowned down at the unfamiliar uniform, then grinned. "Hard to leave, isn't it?"

McCoy held up his hands in the air, standing. "Fine, you win. Can I at least give the order before I go back to work?"

Kirk shrugged. "Okay by me."

McCoy got up and crossed his arms behind him in his best captain's stance. "Take us out, Mr. Sulu."

"Aye, aye... _Captain_." Sulu grinned and steered the ship towards the direction of Unti'sala.

McCoy watched the ship go into warp as Kirk reclaimed his chair. As the turbolift doors shut behind the tired doctor, he closed his eyes and smiled. _Give me the chaos of sickbay any day..._


	4. Disease

McCoy scrutinized the instrument readout with a critical eye. _Excellent...nice and level. This isn't so hard..._ The shuttle controls responded to his commands, moving the craft in a straight line back towards the _Enterprise_. He cleared his throat, and his fellow passenger shifted in her seat.

He took a moment to study the sleeping female form next to him, briefly recalling the last time he and Carol Marcus had shared a ride. _Almost lost my arm...and my dignity._ Tendrils of blonde hair curled under her chin, blowing lightly with each soft breath. Satisfied, he returned his gaze to the vast field of stars outside, just making out the ship as it rounded the orbit of Dareen. The pale blue misshapen planet tilted slightly on its axis; three nearly identical moons orbited it a short distance away. It was the first moon, Rei, which he and Marcus were returning from.

From the moment the Dareenir had made contact with them, there had been a whirlwind of activity. _You'd think they'd never had guests before._ The officer they'd initially spoken to was a perpetual motion machine disguised as a young man. On the short side, with slightly stooped shoulders, and a thatch of white hair that looked as though it had never seen a comb, the youth had regarded them with wide, excited, childlike eyes, bouncing up and down in his seat. His language was such a fluid stream of incoherent babble that even the translator had a hard time keeping track of individual words and syllables.

Eventually, he had been relieved by a senior officer, who thankfully spoke more clearly and slowly. But he, too, seemed to radiate joy. McCoy could see it in the way the man's eyes danced as he told them that they were welcome to come and exchange information and ideas.

After a brief conclave, Kirk and Spock had agreed that such a cooperative attitude was singularly uncommon, and they would be foolish not to accept. Well, that was how Spock had put it, anyway. Kirk had contacted the planet with their acceptance and had asked each department head to put together a team of representative officers.

Dressed in a freshly pressed uniform, he'd boarded the shuttlecraft along with the other medical staff, stomach growling. He'd skipped breakfast that morning to run some statistical analyses of his patient data to identify any trends that indicated potential future problems. Not surprisingly, vaccination rates and follow-up visits were lower than they should have been. He had just asked the computer to create a prioritized list of individuals when the communication had come in; between that and setting a new record for quickest shower ever; he simply hadn't had the time. _Guess whose name'll be at the top of the list?_

As he lowered himself into the seat between Kirk and Spock, his digestive organ let out a particularly loud grumble. "Pardon my borborygmi," he'd muttered, putting a hand over his abdomen.

Kirk made a face at him and reached down beside his seat with one hand, scrunching his eyes together. "Yeah...hang on, I think there may be a bag for that in here."

Spock looked up from his PADD in confusion. "Captain, that is the scientific term for the noise one's stomach makes when it is empty."

Silence. "I knew that..." Kirk closed the small compartment and leaned back, wiggling into the cushion. "Catch." He tossed McCoy a protein bar, and the doctor caught it. "You'll be glad you did."

"Do you expect their hospitality not to include sustenance?" Spock asked, tapping a button on the PADD. "In my experience, that is not usually the case."

Kirk's eyes closed. "Well, in _my_ experience, said sustenance isn't always my cup of tea, if you know what I mean. Take Orync...nothing but green pellets. They said it'd taste like anything we imagined, but I kept feeling like I was eating livestock feed."

"I didn't think it was that bad, Jim. But just to be on the safe side..." McCoy waggled the protein bar and put it in his pocket.

Kirk rewarded him with a thumbs-up before pulling out a PADD of his own and putting on wireless earphones. One tap and he relaxed, the crashing sound of some metal band smashing something around beginning to play.

McCoy turned to Spock, but the officer was giving instructions to their pilot, a young Indian man with dark eyes. Realizing that neither of his seatmates were interested in discussing the trip any further, he yawned and gazed briefly around the shuttle.

About twenty or so officers filled the seats, laughing and chatting like schoolchildren going on a field trip. There was even a beanbag tribble being tossed around by three different security team members. McCoy smiled as the projectile was intercepted by Spock's right hand. The commander didn't even blink as he caught the toy, finishing his instructions, only then striding to the back of the shuttle and returning it to a red-faced redshirt, with a strong admonition that such behaviour was distracting and dangerous. The man nodded and shoved it into a small pack.

The shuttle trip there had been uneventful. They'd received instructions to land at a ground-based shuttleport on the east coast of the largest continent. As they descended, McCoy had looked over Kirk's dozing form out the window at the tarmac below. He was not prepared for the sight that greeted him.

He swatted Kirk's shoulder. "Jim – wake up!"

Kirk shot him a mildly annoyed look before reverting to concerned captain. "What's happening, Bones?" He followed McCoy's gaze out the window and stopped. "Oh...that."

"Yeah, _that_." Throngs of Dareenir civilians crowded behind a barrier near the runway that was guarded by military officers. Some waved flags, while other carried large bunches of colorful flowers. Even from above and inside the craft, he could feel the energy out there. Some of the officers carried small weapons, while others had musical instruments slung across their chests.

"Nice, isn't it? Looks like they really rolled out the welcome wagon for us." As the shuttle descended, the crowd began to cheer. Kirk flashed his seatmate a grin. "Time to put on my irresistible diplomatic charm. How's this?" His smile widened, showing all his teeth.

"Peachy, if you're going to a dentistry convention," McCoy drawled. "Easy on the molars, Jim. You don't want to scare them away on your first meeting."

Kirk's mouth drooped. "Better?"

"Try something in between."

Kirk put on a subdued smile and clicked the cockpit comm. "Mr. Harjeet, try to land her a little further down the runway. Don't want to be mobbed before we're out the door."

"Aye, aye, captain."

The craft finally landed with a soft bump at the far end of the runway. Crew members unbuckled their seatbelts and stood, stretching, before filing down the aisle towards the door. McCoy brought up the rear, two minutes after the others had departed. As he poked his head out, he noticed that the crowd had followed the shuttle to the end of the runway. Dareenir surrounded the crew, shouting and waving, grasping their hands and pulling them close in friendly embraces. A very uncomfortable Spock was trapped between two older women who hung on his sides. One put a beaded wreath over his neck and kissed him on the cheek soundly. The Vulcan blushed green. A nearby Uhura laughed at the pinched expression on his face before being swept away by some children who filled her arms with flowers and fruit.

Leonard scanned the crowd for Kirk, noticing similar things happening to other crew members. The captain stood beside Carol Marcus as she cooed at a small baby a young woman was showing to her. Kirk reached out a hand to get the child's attention, only to wind up with a bitten finger for his troubles. He pulled his hand back, grimacing and trying not to cry out. His pained gaze met McCoy's, probably expecting laughter. Instead, the doctor returned his look with a sympathetic one of his own. Kirk smiled and turned around to face another Dareeni who held out a platter of lime green oval fruit slices.

Sighing deeply, McCoy stepped away from the side of the shuttle and made his way into the crowd. It didn't take long for their greeters to realize that a new face had come into their midst. He was mobbed by several people who grabbed him and pulled him along through the crowd, showering him with food, flowers and confetti. It was almost more than the doctor could take. _Be nice, Leonard. Suppress the urge to bolt back to the shuttle screaming._ He bit back a sneeze as a handful of glitter rained down on his head from somewhere up above.

McCoy was at first relieved when they were ushered to a large hoverbus pulled up next to the transport complex and driven through a series of winding roadways. He smiled as he imagined a nice hotel with luxurious pillows, a bar, maybe a swimming pool... _No on calls...heaven._ As they turned a corner past a large stone edifice with orange glass windows, he noticed that there was an unusual amount of people lining the streets. Some held banners and flags, waving them enthusiastically. With a start, McCoy realized they were there to see _them_. _It's a parade..._ He shrugged and waved to the crowds. _Whatever._

The next several hours passed in a blur. The bus escorted them from party to party; streets, public parks, military installations and private dwellings welcomed them with effusive joy and celebration. They spent no more than half an hour at each location before being whisked off to another. McCoy was beginning to develop a headache from the upheaval. _Every time I finish my darn drink, somebody hands me a refill. I can't even use the bathroom without being celebrated all the way there!_ He took a sip of something yellow and mildly frothy, wincing as the acrid taste hit him.

The next thing he knew, he'd woken up on the shuttlecraft again, this time headed towards Rei, the first moon. Once again, he and the representatives were swarmed by overly friendly inhabitants upon disembarking. He'd managed to share a helpless look with Jim, who was being fawned over by several little girls who seemed to want him to play some kind of schoolyard game involving a ball filled with seeds.

Just as McCoy had begun to think that the day would never end, Carol Marcus surprised him. He'd been trying to find an open window, some kind of hole in the wall so he could breathe, when a hand reached out and pulled him behind a potted plant.

"AH!"

"Shhh..." The lieutenant held a finger up to her lips. "They'll hear you." She raked a hand through her damp hair and leaned against the wall, arms crossed, letting a puff of air out.

McCoy smiled. "So...what's your impression of our hosts?"

Marcus smiled. "A bit too...'enthusiastic' for my liking."

"Pardon me, ma'am, but I believe the word you're searching for is 'insane'." He shook his head and twirled his finger in a circle. "If there's one thing I can't stand, it's having groupies."

Carol peered between the fronds of palm and pointed across the room. Jim was busy posing for photos with a group of older men. "He doesn't seem to mind."

McCoy looked just as the photographer lowered the camera. A pretty green haired woman passed it to Jim, who looked down at the image, then smiled up at her and winked. "Now, why do you think _that_ is?"

Carol crossed her eyes and leaned back. "I should've known." She pulled out her comm and looked at it. "We've got an hour before we have to leave. I don't know about you, but I'm ready to call it a night _now_." She yawned. "They haven't said anything about accommodations, and I really don't want to try and find a hotel at this time of night in a strange city."

McCoy flipped open his comm and called Jim. The captain picked up on the fifth chirp. "Kirk here," he shouted over the loud music.

"Jim, me and Carol have about had it. Mind if we take the shuttle back now? You know I hate the transporter, and _you're_ certainly not going anywhere any time soon-"

"Go ahead, Bones. I-I might want to stick around a little-" He stopped as the woman beckoned him onto the dance floor, laughing and tapping her feet. Kirk nodded and continued. "You're not drunk, are you?"

McCoy obliged the unseeing captain by walking a straight line behind the palm. Carol clapped. "Nope. See you, Jim." He clicked off the comm. "Come on, Lieutenant. We're good."

After asking for directions, they headed up to the roof of the convention centre, locating the shuttlepad where their craft was parked. It took only three minutes before they were soaring through the clouds and on their way home.

When he opened the hatch and exited the shuttle, night shift officers approached him. McCoy threw his hands up in front of his face, then dropped them at their confused expressions. "Sorry. I've been around too many people today."

"No worries, Doctor. Man, you look _beat_." Ensign Breyer clapped him on the shoulder before heading up into the craft to run a maintenance check. He nodded at Carol as she slowly stepped down the ramp. She offered a weak smile and yawned again.

"Good night, Lieutenant. Get some zs." McCoy saluted her with a smile and she returned it, heading towards the turbolift on the other side of shuttlebay. He watched her until the doors slid shut and moved in the opposite direction. _And now...to bed._ The whir of his turbolift nearly lulled him to sleep, only to jolt him awake as it stopped.

If it was possible, he broke his earlier shower record before brushing his teeth, and crawling into bed, thoroughly sore and exhausted. _Probably still got about a kilo of glitter in my hair..._ He turned on his side and let sleep take him into oblivion.

Oblivion tasted strangely like vomit.

McCoy gripped the side of his toilet with one hand, shaking as he pushed down on the lever with the other. He'd woken up five minutes ago, kicking off the wet blankets, only to realize they were soaked with his own sweat. A burning pain was boring a hole somewhere in the pit of his stomach. Without thinking, he'd sprinted for the bathroom and hung his head over the bowl just in time to unload nine hours worth of party food.

Mentally, he kicked himself. _Shoulda known. What am I always telling anyone who'll listen, and plenty who won't? "Don't eat anything without checking it out first." I'll bet it was those_ jakusa _rings...about burned my mouth off. Or maybe that weird pink punch with the floaties in it...oh, who cares?_ He heaved again, gasping for air. Nothing came up. _Good._ _Maybe it's gone..._ He stilled as he noticed the dark blue rash on the back of his right hand for the first time. Sitting back against the bathroom wall, he pushed up one pajama sleeve, then the other. The blue blotches went all the way up his arm, swollen and pulsating. _Ack! My tricorder...where's my tricorder?_ He slapped his forehead, wincing in pain as he realized that he'd left it behind on the shuttle. _Peachy._

He was just about to reach for his comm to call for help when it chirped, and he unclipped it from his pants, pressing the answer button. "McCoy here. I-"

A low moan interrupted him. "Tell me you don't feel as bad as I do."

"Carol?" He leaned forward, holding his dizzy head. "What's wrong?"

"I was hoping you could tell me. I've been lying on the bathroom floor for an hour." A faint hint of wry humor colored her tone. "Finally managed to drag my way over to the wall comm. I guess I must be lonely 'cause I'm blue."

He chuckled humourlessly. "I know the feeling. You just rest, I'll call for help." She didn't answer, but judging from the sound McCoy heard on the other end, he couldn't blame her one iota. He switched the channel. "Medbay, this is McCoy. Send a medical team to my quarters and Lieutenant Carol Marcus's, in quarantine gear. We're dealing with an unknown disease..."

"Got any threes?"

McCoy quirked a brow at the blue-skinned scientist who regarded him from the next bed. He took a tiny sip of apple juice from the table that stood between them and settled back against his pillows.

Carol frowned down at her hand of cards. "Go fish."

He leaned forward and reached out a hand towards her, smiling as her heart rate indicator went up five points. "You're a terrible bluffer, Lieutenant."

She managed a smile back, and slapped the card into his hand, frowning and rubbing her temple with her other hand. "Yeah, well, this is a rotten place to play cards, all hooked up to monitors." Carol waved a hand at the medical display, brushing her hair out of her eyes. "Cheater."

"Hey, nobody's stopping you from looking at mine." He set down his pair and peered through the containment field at the science officers who were busy studying their samples, trying to determine the origin of their illness and find a cure.

Despite his assurances that the anti-nausea meds he'd been given were working, he had been told in no uncertain terms by Doctor Pajaloi that his job now was to rest. He'd been tempted to quote the phrase, "physician, heal thyself", but a bout of heart palpitations had stopped him in his tracks. This had led to more tests which revealed that he was allergic to the digestive remedy he had earlier lauded. So now he sat cross-legged in bed playing kiddy card games with a young woman who was no more pleased about the forced inactivity than he was.

Carol's fingernails idly grazed her right arm. "I play fair. Got any jacks?"

"No scratching, unless you want some lovely scars for a souvenir." He took another sip of juice. "Fish." He looked over at the time display on the wall. "What's keeping Jim, anyway?" He'd been expecting the captain for two hours. _I know he stayed out late last night, but surely.._.

"Probably trying to wake up one of our ardent admirers to ask for medical assistance. That, could take a while." She reached for a card and tapped it against her chin, thinking. "Or maybe they're as in the dark as we are. Twos?"

McCoy dearly hoped it was the former. "Go fish." Pain grabbed his stomach. He breathed in and out slowly until it passed. "If only they'd let me have a tricorder, or a micro-imager...something. That's all I want. I _hate_ not being able to _do something."_ He dropped his cards face down and balled his hands into fists. An alarm beeped and he looked behind his head. "There goes my temperature again. 101.3." McCoy sighed and gulped down the rest of his juice, seeing the small flat vital sign stickers taped to his rashy arm. "Hey..." Pouring an ice cube from his drink, he pressed it to the miniscule device, watching his readouts with hope.

A plastic straw sailed by his head. "That doesn't work and you know it." Marcus crossed her arms and gave him a sideways glance.

He shrugged. "A man can dream, can't he?" As he dropped the ice back in his glass, he spotted Jim and Spock standing by the entrance to sickbay, speaking to Pajaloi. The first officer wore his usual all-is-right-with-the-universe-and-myself expression, but Kirk's was more difficult to read. He nodded at the doctor, who headed for his office, while the two approached the quarantine field together.

McCoy slipped his feet into a pair of white paper slippers and slid off the bed, heading for the field. He flicked a comm switch, allowing them to speak but not spread germs. "Good news or bad?"

Spock folded his hands behind his back. "We were rather fortunate, Doctor. Considering the numerous locations and individuals you and Lt. Marcus were exposed to, we expected it would take longer to narrow down the source of your infection."

"I could see that. It _was_ pretty crazy." McCoy scratched his stubbly jaw.

"Is anybody else ill?" Carol chimed in, stepping forward, her hand drawing the sash on her robe closed. McCoy looked back at her, then turned, cocking his head at Jim.

Kirk shook his head. "No. That's part of the reason we figured it out, actually." He pressed a hand to the field, looking first McCoy, then Carol in the eyes. They both drew back and shared a glance before turning to face forward again.

"You may thank Mr. Chekov's keen observational skills." McCoy tried to remember if he'd seen the navigator at the party, but drew a blank. "He recalled seeing the two of you engaging in a clandestine rendezvous behind a large _thee'oric_ palm, shortly after which you departed." Spock's brow rose. "The leaves of these palms secrete a resin which is mildly irritating to the Dareen. In humans, it would appear the reaction is rather more... _pronounced_." He indicated the rash covering McCoy's arms and face. "The Dareen medical authorities were kind enough to supply us with a course of treatment. You will each have to undergo a series of three injections, five hours apart, as well as phototherapy and the application of medicated lotion."

Carol twirled her hand in the air. "Yay."

"Oh, _joy_." McCoy tugged at his pajama collar. "Don't get me wrong, I want to get out of here. I just wish it didn't take so long."

"Understood. I wish you both a quick recovery." Turning, he walked away, but then stopped. "It was unsettling to learn of your discomfort."

"Thanks, Spock." McCoy watched him stop next to a microscope and peer down into it. Carol walked back over to bed, smiling at Kirk as she gathered their forgotten playing cards. He waved, and she waved back, frowning before sitting down on the edge of the bed and shuffling the cards.

Kirk cleared his throat. "Uh...yeah. I'm glad you're feeling better, too, Bones." He stared at his feet. "Sooo...twelve hours, at least. Wow. Long time to be stuck in a q-field together...and the shuttle...the party...something you two wanna tell me?" He pointed back and forth between the two of them.

McCoy frowned. "Spit it out, Jim."

Kirk shuffled his feet. "It's just...you know, it was pretty nuts...I don't think I saw anyone I recognized after _midnight._ I just kind of wondered...well, did you two have a _good_ time?" There was a slight edge to his voice.

The doctor put his hands on his hips. "I think you know the answer to _that_." He turned to Carol, spreading his arms out wide. "Rashy, nauseous, and feverish, and he asks if we _enjoyed_ ourselves?"

"I don't think that's what he's talking about, Leonard," Carol muttered, tucking her legs beneath the blankets and reaching for her cranberry juice.

Kirk cleared his throat. "Like, are you two...did you-" He swallowed hard.

Carol frowned. "Wait a minute. Are you... _jealous?_ Of _us?_ "

McCoy blushed. "Oh, for crying out loud. Are you kidding me, Jim?" He closed his eyes and shook his head, one hand on his hip, the other on his forehead. "Sure. _Sure_. Between racing each other to the bathroom and having blood drawn every hour, we fell _madly_ in love. Right, Carol?"

She raised her glass in a mock toast before taking a sip, eyes rolling. "Absolutely smitten, _darling._ "

Leonard turned back to the captain. "Satisfied? Or do I need a lawyer?"

It was Kirk's turn to blush. He backed away from the field. "Sorry. It's just, you hear about these things happening. Two people, stuck together, facing adversity...you know what I mean, right?"

McCoy nodded. "Yeah. I know. Say, what's gotten into you, anyway? 'Cause I'm sure there's plenty more resin where that came from, if you want to hang out with us patients." He put one hand flat against the field. " Besides, what happened to that girl you were hanging out with last night? The one who took your picture?"

"Yoka?" Jim managed a lopsided grin, tugging at his uniform sweater. "Ah, about _that_...well, apparently, there's at least _one_ Dareen who isn't overly fond of...strangers. Who also happens to be her _father_." He chuckled half-heartedly. "Her seven foot tall...overly protective...short-tempered...father." He slicked back his hair. "Phew. Took some fast talking to get out of _that_ one."

McCoy covered his face with one hand. _Jim, Jim, Jim..._ "I'll bet it did." He clutched his abdomen as another wave of pain and nausea hit him. "Oooh. Gotta go." Kirk winced as McCoy turned and ran for the bathroom. _Leave it to Jim to think Carol and I would fall in love over the toilet bowl._..


	5. Evacuation

The sudden appearance of red lights everywhere is never a good sign. And when it's combined with an ear-splitting siren and what is supposed to be a calm, reassuring voice giving instructions over an intercom, you can be pretty sure something's up. _Like the end of a world as we know it._

The sudden cacophony interrupted a particularly good cup of coffee. Now, Leonard was a doctor, not a connoisseur of fine brews, but the cup he clasped in both hands as all hell broke loose filled his lungs with an aroma about as wonderful as you could wish for. So it caused him no small amount of angst when the warning sirens jerked him out of his reverie, sending the fragile china mug spiralling to the floor with a barely perceptible crash.

His hands shook as he brought them to his ears, attempting to drown out the blaring noise. _What in tarnation is going on?_ He lifted his eyes from the table, watching crowds of Olaikins emptying out of the large bowl-shaped lobby of the Olaika Cultural Archive. Part museum, part library, the building was an impressive feat of advanced architecture that still managed to include several tasteful nods to earlier eras.

He studied the passing Olaikin more closely. Fear and confusion covered the evacuees' gray, wizened faces as they passed quickly by his table, many of them seeming to take no notice of the odd-looking stranger that had captured their interest only two minutes ago. Leonard slid out of the too-small chair and table combo that reminded him of classroom desks he'd squeezed into in medical school, wincing as the narrow space between seat and prop bar pinched his hip. He cast a final forlorn gaze at the spilled coffee before scanning the room for signs of danger. Crowds moved this way and that between exits, but they all seemed to be crossing the room without being impeded by any obstacles other than each other. The orange-clad security guard who'd stopped him on the way in shouted into a small ring on her left thumb, presumably a communication device. A woman carried a young child in each arm, towing a third who lagged behind her, looking up at the large glass pinwheel-shaped window above.

He fumbled for his comm, swearing when his hand missed his belt and hit empty air instead. Whipping it out on the second try, he switched it on. "Jim!" he shouted. "Jim, where are you? Spock. Come in. _Somebody_ I know come in!"

"Sulu here, Doctor." The helmsman's familiar voice was a relief to hear. "I'm on echelon 5, in the botanical library. Well, uh..." he chuckled, "actually, _under_ it. There's a small glass greenhouse area in the floor – one of the students let me in about half an hour ago." Light tapping sounds underscored his words. "There's some great stuff in here; like an emerald green flowers that's three feet-"

McCoy frowned as another Olaikin jostled past him. "Yeah, Hikaru, I'm sure it's beautiful. Listen, do you have any idea why everybody's running out of here like scared rabbits?" A man grabbed him by the arm roughly and shoved him in the direction of a smaller hallway off the lobby decorated with children's artwork. "Okay, I'm going, I'm going!" he bristled, turning back to his comm as the Olaika man released his vice grip. "Sorry. So what's going on?"

"Dunno. Maybe someone pulled the fire alarm. One of the sprinklers up here has been activated." The tapping sounds grew louder as Sulu apparently held the comm up to the glass ceiling.

"Well, whatever it is, we should probably go." McCoy pushed through a heavy door and headed down a flight of winding stairs. "Do you know where the main exit is in this building? I can't find a map or anything in this crazy place. Don't think I'd even know what one _looks_ like."

Silence from the other end. McCoy chuckled. "Quit looking at the daisies, Lieutenant, and help a guy out." His laugh died in his throat as he stepped into an arch-high puddle. He looked up. No sprinkler heads stuck out of the ceiling above. "Hikaru, it's wet down here, too. I don't think it's the fire sprinklers." He splashed through the puddles towards a glass window and pressed his face to the pane, gaping as a large white eel swam past outside. _Have mercy...if that's a lower floor..._ He peered down the staircase. Water climbed the steps steadily.

His comm crackled. Rattling sounds, and then a crash as glass broke. "Come... _on_. No!" Water rushed in the background. "The whole place's flooding fast, Doctor. Water pressure's too high, I can't get out!"

"I know." McCoy watched several aquatic pods shoot past the window, no doubt the Olaikin evacuees who had left the building a long time ago. _And probably Jim and Spock, too._ He kicked at the wall, pulling back just before his foot made contact. Turning, he bolted back up the staircase in the direction he'd come. "Climb as high up as you can. I'm coming for you. Where exactly _are_ you, anyway?"

"South wing of the building. It's a little room shaped like a dome. Oof!" _Thump._ "I'm sitting on top of one of the sample storage shelves. Water's already about a quarter of the way up."

A very inconvenient door gave way to McCoy's fist as he sloshed through it, feeling the cold water lap at his ankles. "Good. Don't move, and stay on the comm." He switched channels. "Jim!" he barked. "Say something."

"Banana," a muffled voice replied. "I hope _your_ aquapod has cushier seats than mine, Bones. My backside's getting nu-"

"Blast it all, I'm not _in_ an aquapod, I'm still at the _archives_!" McCoy shivered as the cold temperature of the water sent chills up his spine.

" _What?_ Bones, what are you still _doing_ there?" Kirk's tone turned serious.

The doctor reached the next landing quickly, his breathing rapid. "Going for a little _swim_ , that's what! Sulu got himself _trapped_ in a _tank_ that's rapidly filling with _seawater_ , and if I don't get him out, we'll _both_ drown!"

"Sulu? I haven't been able to reach everybody yet. Is he all right?" Kirk asked.

"Yes, for now," McCoy stopped in front of a second door. "I just wish somebody would tell me _why_ this is happening. What kind of _idiots_ would build an archive _underwater_?" He pushed on the exit, but this one didn't budge. He swore and tried again. And again. And again.

"Look, I don't know what they were thinking, either." Kirk sighed. "Here's what I've managed to piece together on the ride; three weeks ago, this continent experienced unprecedented seismic activity. Several buildings were damaged, including the one you're in now. They were still in the process of doing structural assessments when political pressure forced them to re-open the Archive. You know, one guy leaning on another. But nobody-"

McCoy kicked the door hard, falling backwards on his backside with a splash. "Yeah, I know, nobody thought to tell _us_. Great. Look, I need another way to get to echelon 5. Door's stuck. You happen to download the building schematics?"

"You mean the map?"

"Not the tourist thing. The blueprints." He stood up, shaking off excess water.

"Yeah. Okay, so you're where?"

"South stairs. Two floors below the main."

"Let me see...oh, that's good. There's an air vent for the climate control system just above your head. It's a little tight, but fairly easy to open."

McCoy looked up. A slightly rusty grate overhead was missing a screw. "I see it." Reaching up, he grabbed the bars and pulled down on them as hard as he could. He jumped up in the air and let the weight of his suspended body strain the grate until it flipped open with a loud _creak,_ setting his feet back on the wet floor. _Thank the Lord for bad maintenance,_ he thought. _Wait a minute, that's what got us_ into _this mess in the first place..._ He shook his hands in the air and rubbed them together, preparing to climb up into the vent.

As he pulled himself up and into the ductwork, the sides of the vent pressed against his body.

"It's kind of a tight squeeze, though," Kirk added.

 _No kidding_. Leonard felt as though he was being squeezed through a sausage casing. _I'm a doctor, not a bratwurst._ "I'm in. Where do I go?" His head scraped the ceiling of the duct, flaking rust off and onto his scalp.

"Straight ahead about a hundred feet, then to the right thirty feet. There's another vent there that opens into the hallway on echelon four. From there, you should be able to take the stairs the rest of the way."

"Great. Talk to you when I'm out." McCoy wriggled down the duct slowly, trying not to injure himself. It didn't work; he could feel sharp bits of metal poking his skin. _Gonna need a tetanus shot on top of everything else._ He coughed twice. _Please don't be asbestos..._ The awful groaning noise he kept hearing as the duct carried his weight wasn't very reassuring, either. Any moment, he expected to come crashing through the ceiling. _No wonder they never fix_ _these things. Who'd want to spend_ any _amount of time up here?_

Thankfully, when he reached the junction, there was a little more room to move. _That must've been an auxiliary shaft._ He crawled on his hands and knees towards the vent and released a sticky latch from the inside. The door flipped open, and he lowered his body to the ground slowly, wincing as his torn uniform caught on the scrapes he'd suffered. He looked up and down the watery hallway. Several well-lit rooms lined each side of the corridor, labelled by metal plates engraved in calligraphic script. A small bay window at one end of the hall looked out onto a coral reef garden. Several of the window panes were cracked; seawater trickled in steadily. On the opposite end, he spied the exit door and ran for it, throwing all his weight against it. The door gave way, and he barrelled down the stairs to the next echelon, stopping in an identical hallway to the one he'd just been in.

McCoy put his hands on his knees and gripped his comm tightly. "Okay, Jim, I made it. Now what? All these doors look alike."

"Seventh one on your left! And you'd better hurry. I just spoke to Sulu. He said the room was half full, and then his comm cut out."

McCoy switched channels as he hurried towards the botany library door. "Sulu. Sulu, status!" Static replied. "I can't get ahold of him either, Jim. That's _not_ a good sign." He entered his visitor code into the door lock and it glowed bright yellow before letting him into the dark room.

He gaped as cold water rushed past his legs. McCoy struggled to stay upright. The water level inside the room was now waist-high. _If it's this bad in the archive, then the greenhouse-_ He didn't let himself finish the grim thought. Several of the interactive computer displays were non-functional. He waded into the room, fighting against the current. As he stepped into the center of the room, carpeted floor gave way to tempered glass. "Jim. I found the greenhouse." He kicked the metal frame of the structure's roof, gasping when his foot went right through a large pane. He pulled it out, watching the water escape the room and continue to fill the glass enclosure at a faster rate. "But I don't see Sulu anywhere. I'm going in." Lowering himself down into the water, he sucked in a deep breath and dropped through the gap.

Salt stung his eyes and lips as he ducked under the water in search of the missing helmsman. He swam through the current with short, choppy strokes, fighting against the whirling current. As he did so, he dragged his hand along the edge of the wall, feeling for the shelving unit Hikaru had mentioned earlier, resisting the urge to call out his name and thus fill his lungs with water. His fingers brushed several specimens of plant life, including some kind of cactus, before resting on something cool and smooth. Pulling his body towards the shelf, he kicked until the bottom of his boot made contact, climbing upward slowly.

As he reached the top, he surfaced, letting out a gasp of stale air and dragging in what remaining fresh oxygen the room held. He floated there for a moment before the dull yellow of a command level uniform caught his eye, floating just beyond his reach. _There!_ Sulu lay facedown in the water, his sweater barely visible in the dim light. In two seconds, he slid his left arm around the limp lieutenant's waist, using his right arm to pull them both towards the window.

He pushed Sulu through the hole first, then pulled himself up and over onto the floor of the library, dragging the man towards the open door and out into the hallway. Propping him up against the wall, he assessed his condition. Sulu's face was blue, and his chest was still. McCoy pressed two fingers to his neck, relieved when he felt a pulse. _Can't lay him on the floor..._ He turned the lieutenant until his body was facing the wall and pressed hard on his back, trying to expel the water he'd inhaled. "Come on, Sulu. Breathe for me. _Come_ on." He continued this for about thirty seconds, but it felt like hours. _C'mon, gravity, cut me a break here..._

With a loud gasp, Sulu choked up seawater, coughing and sputtering, eyes squinted shut. _That's the best sound I've heard in a long time._ The doctor clapped him on the back with one hand, supporting his weight with the other. "You all right, Hikaru?"

"I-I think so." Sulu smiled weakly at him. "How l-long was I under?" Another coughing fit ensued.

McCoy eyed him worriedly. "Five minutes, max. You can thank Jim I found you in time. If it weren't for his curiosity, we wouldn't even be _having_ this conversation." McCoy reached for his comm. "Jim, I found him. Swallowed a little water, but alive. Are they still loading the aquapods?"

"Great, and no. The last one left a few minutes ago."

 _Of course it did._ "Lovely." He turned to Sulu, his mouth drooping. "Looks like we'll have to head for the lobby. Transport won't be possible this deep underwater. Think you can make it? We might have to take the ventil-"

Sulu held up a hand. "Give me the comm." McCoy complied, handing his device over to Sulu, who nodded once at him. Reaching for his medical tricorder, he began to scan him, noting with satisfaction that his respiration was levelling out.

Sulu ignored him, turning to face the wall, one hand on his hip, the other raking through his hair. "Captain, how close is the aquapod bay to our location?"

"Three levels down; it's the whole floor. You're not planning on _swimming_ out, are you? We're talking _Navy SEAL_ depths here."

"Relax, sir. We'll be fine. Sulu out." He switched off the comm and turned to face McCoy. "Let's go."

McCoy followed him towards the opposite end of the hallway. He pointed over his shoulder. "Stairs are that way."

Sulu looked back at him, not stopping until he stood before a set of sliding doors. "We're not taking the stairs." He flipped open a wall panel and activated the door controls. Both men peered down the empty elevator shaft as water drained into it.

McCoy shook his head. "No way. First rule of safety is _never_ use the elevator in an emergency." He chuckled humourlessly. "Funny, I'd think you'd want to _avoid_ confined spaces after what happened in there."

"I'm not planning to use it." Sulu's eyes flicked upwards. "Car's on an upper level. We're going down the shaft." He leaned forward. "Cable still looks solid. Sliding down it should be fairly easy."

The doctor blinked. " _Sliding down?_ As in, _down_ down?" Sulu nodded. " _Three_ _flights_ down?"

"Uh huh. Unless you want to jump, Doctor." Sulu cocked his head to one side.

 _Yeah, right._ McCoy held both hands palms up. "No, no. Sliding's good." He crossed his arms over his chest.

"Attaboy. I'll even go first to show you it's all right. Take my arm." He leaned forward, reaching for the cable with one hand, as McCoy grabbed his opposite arm, bracing himself against the near wall. "Okay, let go!" McCoy released him, closing his eyes and listening for sounds he dreaded; a scream and the sickening crack of a broken body. Instead, silence, and then a low, slow squeak as Sulu disappeared down the slack end of the cable into the wet darkness below.

McCoy tiptoed closer to the edge of the shaft just as Sulu landed with a quiet splash. "Made it. Your turn," he called, his voice echoing off the walls.

"Coming." He shivered, straining to see the helmsman's silhouette in order to confirm that he really _had_ made it. Water dripped onto his head from somewhere above the elevator car. "Uh, new plan; how about I take the stairs and meet you there?"

"There's no time. Stairs could be further compromised. It's now or never." _Right. How about never?_ "Come on. I'll spot you," Sulu continued.

McCoy hesitated, trying to think of another plan. At that moment, a loud crumbling sound caused him to look over his shoulder. Chunks of drywall crashed to the ground. _On second thought..._ Backing up against the far wall, he took a running leap into the elevator shaft, striking the touch panel as he went by. He flailed around for a few seconds before gaining a solid grip on the cable. "Ahh! Okay, I'm coming now!" He closed his eyes and loosened his grip, waiting for the pull of gravity to take him downwards.

Instead, he felt his body being pulled upward. He looked up and saw the cable rising slowly. "Sulu! It's going up!"

" _Up_? What did you _do_?"

"I don't know! Press the button!" McCoy grabbed onto the cable for dear life and held his breath as the car continued to climb.

"No good! I can't get it to reverse! You'll have to jump!"

"JUMP?! From this height? Are you _kidding_ me?" The words were barely out of his mouth before a loud crash reverberated through the shaft. Metal fragments rained down on McCoy. "What the..." His heart stopped as an eerie snapping sound filled his ears. The elevator car shifted sideways under the weight of debris. _No. Don't tell me..._

" _Sulu_! Get out of the way! Car's falling!" McCoy let go of the cable and flew down the shaft, feeling cool air rush by him as he fell. Try as he might, he couldn't help recalling the fact that objects with a different mass were supposed to land at the same time. His body hit the water with a loud _splash_ and bounded out of the shaft just as the elevator car slammed into the floor, splashing water everywhere. His body collided with Sulu's, sending them both to the ground in a heap. " _Ooof_!"

McCoy rolled over onto his side, struggling to catch his breath while Sulu remained sprawled out on his back. Pushing himself to his feet, he offered the lieutenant a hand up. "Did I hurt you?"

Sulu shook his head, smiling as he brushed off his uniform. "If I'd known we were going to be playing tackle football, I'd have worn some padding. That was a close one."

 _You can say that again._ McCoy burst out laughing as another though hit him.

Sulu frowned. "What's so funny?"

McCoy looked over his shoulder at the elevator. "I just find it a little _ironic_ that I travelled millions of lightyears from Earth only to nearly be hit by a _car_."

"Ah. I see."

Leonard stared past him to the large empty bay before them. Several docking stations lay vacant, presumably having held aquapods prior to the evacuation. Various computer stations were scattered across the room; toolkits lay open where techs had abandoned them. "So what's this surefire plan of yours, anyway? We gonna pop open the doors and find a whale to ride?" He looked back and saw nobody. "Sulu?"

He turned around. The helmsman was halfway across the bay already, striding purposefully towards a dark shadow in the opposite corner. _Why can't you stay in one place for more than two seconds?_ Throwing up his hands, he jogged through the shallow puddles, coming to a stop just as Sulu began to pull on the corner of a large tarp.

Sulu waved. "Help me out."

McCoy obliged, yanking until the tarp gave way. They pulled it down towards the ground, revealing a small bubble-shaped craft that looked barely big enough for one man, let alone two. He frowned at Sulu. "How'd you know this was here?"

"Lucky guess." Sulu squeezed the handle of the craft, pulling the door open with a soft _pop_ and stepping inside. "No, seriously, though. I overheard two Olaikin archivists this morning, discussing a new addition to the flight holosimulator. My guess is this baby's on loan so they can scan it and upload schematics, realistic flight data, etcetera." He slid into the driver's seat, patting the passenger side chair next to him.

McCoy ducked inside and squeezed into the surprisingly soft seat as Sulu activated the seatbelts by pressing a small button on the side of his chair. As he buckled his up, he frowned. "Uh, aren't you forgetting something?" He tapped the dome window with his finger. "Waterlock's closed."

Sulu studied the controls before him, his face relaxing. "No problem. This interface looks fairly simple. I think this might..." He tapped an icon on the touchscreen, nodding as the large bay doors whirred apart. "Integrated controls. Nice." He pressed a series of icons and the engine began to rumble. "Here we go." He stuck up one thumb as the small craft slowly rose from the ground. "Hang on, Doctor."

"I will. It's not my first shuttle ride, y'- _KNOW_!" McCoy lurched forward as the craft accelerated quickly, moving forward into the ocean with a rapid oscillating motion. He couldn't tell which way was up as his view switched back and forth between water and reef and water again.

"Wasn't expecting this!" Sulu shouted, working the steering controls with both hands. "Sweet!"

McCoy gripped the sides of the cockpit, bouncing up and down in his seat. His stomach flip-flopped. "W-which way is up?"

Sulu arced the craft left to avoid a tall column of orange coral. "Not important. Just keep your eyes on a fixed point, like the sensor screen." He dipped underneath a low arch, disturbing a school of silvery fish, leaving a cloud of white foam in his wake.

McCoy tried it for a few seconds, jerking his head upwards as a large black finned creature swam by them. "Do you even know where we're going?" He pressed one hand to his mouth as bile rose in his throat.

Sulu didn't answer. Instead, he hugged the edge of the reef before dropping their ship into the expanse below. Ahead, the peak of an undersea volcano vented up towards the surface.

McCoy hiccupped, feeling his stomach fall with it. "Sulu?"

Sulu reached for his comm with one hand and tossed it to McCoy. "Catch. I can't steer _and_ call." He returned his steady gaze to the sensors.

McCoy grabbed the device and switched it on. "Jim. Come in. Where are you?" Static crackled for a few seconds. He hit the comm against the wall.

"Bones? Where are _you_? We're at the evacuation centre with the other Olaikin." Jim shouted to be heard over the drone of a crowd in the background. "Could always use another doctor here. They're expecting more aftershocks in the next several hours."

"Yeah, well, I'm afraid we're going to be fashionably late." As the ship flew up towards the steep peak, he squeezed his eyes shut and braced himself. "I'll let you know if my stomach survives the trip. McCoy out."


	6. Frozen

_Let it go, Leonard._

McCoy gritted his teeth together and shivered as stinging cold snow melted down below the collar of his parka and sent icy rivulets of liquid trailing down his spine. He pressed one gloved hand to the ground and chanced a look at the other one, locked in a fist around what _used_ to be a sealed sample container. Spidery cracks split it in two halfway down the pipette's barrel. _Naturally, it can survive heat and cold and a nuclear bomb, but_ not _the death grip of a frigid physician..._ He studied the black stain on his gloves with dismay. After much negotiation on Kirk's part, the Ruryno had allowed them one day of gathering samples from and making scans of the fourth planetoid in their system. Fynthas was a protected area, akin to a national park on Earth, and the fact that they were there at all was nothing short of a miracle. So to lose what he'd painstakingly collected thus far was a double blow.

Laughter from behind him finally caused him to stand up from his squatting position and face his attacker. "Have we reached our daily quota for juvenile behaviour today _already_ , or would you like to try burying me up to my neck, too?" He strode forward and crossed his arms over his chest, frowning.

Jim sat on his haunches, one hand paused in midair over the beginnings of a small snowball. Three others sat to his left. "Wow, that's a sour face. You know what you need, Bones? A snowcone. Well, uh, sans cone, though." He finished rolling the fourth one and held it up in a gloved hand towards McCoy. "Have one. It's on me."

McCoy held up one hand palm forwards. "No thanks. My spine has had enough tingling for a while." He held up the sample container towards Jim. "Do you have any idea what this is?"

Jim studied it closely. "A sample."

McCoy shook his head. "Not just any sample. That, my dear _captain_ , is the result of an _hour_ kneeling on the cold hard ground using tweezers to collect berries only a little bit bigger than a grain of sand from a fragile lichen without crushing their juice out, just so I could collect 900 milligrams worth." He glanced at the pipette once more. A few tiny black granules clung to the sides, but most of them were either spilled on the snow or staining his gloved hand with sticky black juice. "Thanks to your little hand grenade, I have to start all over again."

Kirk's face fell. "Sorry. I didn't realize. Thought you'd fallen asleep or something." He stood up and approached McCoy, looking more closely at the remnants of the sample. "Seriously. Why's this stuff so important, anyway?" He pressed his mouth shut lightly.

 _Will wonders never cease? I think he actually wants to know._ "Inside each one of these little berries is an even smaller seed. If you crush enough of those seeds and brew them into an emulsion, the end result is a potent drug that stimulates the immune system."

Kirk nodded. "All that in one little..." He shook his head. "Too bad you can't just take the whole plant and save yourself the trouble."

McCoy closed his eyes. "Yeah, I wish."

"That's one of the rare ones, right?"

Leonard dropped the broken container into his bag and pulled out a PADD. He tapped it once to turn it on and the page he'd been reading earlier came into view. " _Extremely_ rare. Only produces fruit every...fourth winter," he continued, reading off the screen. "Native to the northern hemisphere of Fynthas, no natural predators. Besides the Kalwe, that is." He held his stained glove up to Kirk's nose, smiling. "I think you can guess why."

Kirk sniffed, then pulled his head away as though he'd been slapped. "Ughhh..." He coughed twice. "That is nasty _disgusting_. How can anybody...I think I'd rather take my chances with a _virus_." He fanned the air in front of him.

McCoy chuckled. "Landychya told me they call it ' _mehuc-najret'_. It means 'dung-berry'." _Got you back._ He shivered as the wind picked up around them.

Kirk grimaced, wrinkling his nose. "I can see _why_." He grabbed a glove full of snow and held it to his nose. "Ahh, oh, that's better." Lifting one finger in the air, he wagged it in front of Leonard's face. "So help me, if you _ever_ -"

"Captain." Both men turned to see the first officer slowly making his way down the slope of the ridge behind them. He slid partway downwards before jogging towards their position. As he approached them, he sniffed the air briefly, his expression never changing as he looked between Kirk and McCoy. "Am I interrupting the meting out of discipline?"

Kirk's hand dropped to his side. "Nah." He shook his head. "I know you have good ears, Mr. Spock, but surely you didn't hear our snowball fight from all the way across the _lake_."

One eyebrow rose. "I know nothing of your apparent physical altercation, nor the usage of ice crystals as weaponry in this instance. I merely wished to inform you that I sent the rest of the science team back to the _Enterprise_ and would strongly recommend we return as well." He looked upwards, and both men followed his gaze. Thick, dark clouds loomed overhead. _When did it get so dark?_ "Fynthas is prone to sudden storms. I was informed nine minutes ago by Mr. Chekov that two such storms have collided, creating a supercell that is tracking towards our location. If we do not leave soon, we will not be able to transport safely."

McCoy leaned down and picked up his bag, slinging it over his shoulder. "Say no more; you had me at 'storm'." He noted the time displaying on his PADD; _1004 hours_. "Haven't even been here half the day. It's a darn shame. Think you can sweet-talk the Ruryno Natural Preservation Department into giving us a little more time tomorrow, Jim?"

A shadow passed over the sun, causing the captain to look up. "Wow, it _is_ getting darker all of a sudden." Kirk's boots crunched through the snow. "I'll see what I can do, Bones. Those guys aren't the easiest to talk to; everything's couched in sci-babble and legalese."

"I would be most appreciative of your efforts as well, sir. The fertility of the soil at the bottom of the lakebed suggests a volcanic eruption may have been partially responsible for its formation." Spock tucked his chin under his jacket collar as the winds swirled around them.

Kirk held his arms up in surrender. "All right, all right. Don't gang up on me. That's the _last_ thing I need." He shivered as they reached the top of the ridge. "Besides, I want to come back, too."

McCoy smiled. "Don't tell me; you want to build a snowman." Kirk shook his head. "No? Go sledding with a certain female science officer, maybe make a few snow angels?"

Kirk tipped his head to one side, sticking both hands in his pockets. "Actually, as great as all that sounds, I was kind of hoping to see a _wumyo."_

McCoy sighed. "Oh, brother. Did you even _read_ that guidebook they gave us? You're as likely to see a _wumyo_ as Spock is to sprout wings and fly." He shook his head, thinking of Landychya, the elderly Kalwe native woman who'd regaled them with tales of her people's heritage. The Kalwe had lived on Fynthas for many years before the Ruryno had sent a manned spaceship to the planetoid. Upon arriving there, they'd offered the dying tribe the chance to move to their planet instead and thrive. Most of them had accepted the offer, but a few remained behind to live as the ancients had.

Landychya had accompanied her two sons and their families to Ruryno, saying that someone had to teach the Kalwe children their heritage. McCoy had sat spellbound near the tiny wizened woman as she shared traditional healing secrets her people had held for centuries. In turn, he offered to show her some old Earth remedies, an offer she declined politely. "Maybe someday," she'd smiled mysteriously.

He'd listened one night as she recounted tales of the _wumyo_ at a gathering of Kalwe, Ruryno, and Starfleet officers alike. Supposedly, they were as tall as two men, covered in silver fur, with the face of a canine. Several Kalwe claimed to have been rescued from danger by a _wumyo_ ; several more had seen them. But thus far, despite the best efforts of Ruryno scientists, nobody had ever obtained a sample or an image. The best they had were cave drawings and paintings on parchment. While Leonard valued the scientific wisdom of the Kalwe, things you could _prove_ , their legends were another matter. But Jim had lapped it up as the gospel truth.

Kirk shrugged. "It _could_ happen. Those stories have to come from somewhere, right?"

McCoy tapped Kirk's forehead. "Yeah. Up here. In the fevered brains of desperate, delusional people. Ever heard of a thing called 'snow blindness'? The mind plays tricks on you, or you see what you want to. Either way, it's a myth at best." He turned to a silent Spock, shielding his face with his arm as a gust of wind blew snow into it. "Don't just stand there; get us out of here. I'm freezing."

Spock pulled out his comm. "Spock to _Enterprise_. Three to beam up." He glanced at the darkened sky. "Mister Scott, do you read me?"

The comm crackled. "-worse...have to adju-can ye give me _one_ minute?" The engineer's voice sounded vaguely distracted as he was no doubt trying to calculate the appropriate transporter settings to keep them from becoming one with the wall. _Fine by me_.

"We may not have that long, Scotty. Storm's blowing in." Kirk wrapped his arms around his midsection.

" _xchhh-_ blasted interference! I'll get ye, dinna worry. I-" Sparkles of light surrounded the three men. McCoy closed his eyes, anticipating the warmth of the transporter room. _And quiet. No howling winds..._

A sudden gust of wind knocked the doctor to his knees. _What the heck?_ He covered his head with both arms as the snow rushed around him, trying to catch his breath. _Did I rematerialize in the holodeck or something?_ A quick glance upward revealed the same black clouds he'd seen earlier, barely visible through the blowing snow. "Jim! Spock!" he gasped. "It didn't work. We-" Another gust of wind cut him off. He squinted as icy crystals stung his cheeks and forehead, feeling around blindly for the two officers. _Nothing..._ A sick feeling of dread filled him as he realized what had probably happened. _Transporters!_ _Those two got beamed up and_ I _didn't...if the storm was already interfering, it's probably_ impossible _by now._ Nevertheless, he reached for his comm and tried it anyway. "McCoy to _Enterprise_...come in, _Enterprise_. I'm still down here! Come in!" Only static replied.

He sighed. _Well, they'll figure it out when you don't appear. Too bad there's nothing they can do until this blizzard ends. Could be hours, even days._ Leonard peeked out from behind his hands, wincing as cold ice filled his eyes. _It's got to be 25 below at least...I'm not dressed for these temperature! I don't even know where I am!_ "Well, that's not true, Lenny boy. You're on Fynthas." He chuckled to himself. "Fat lot of good that does you."

The sky answered him with a loud rumble of thunder. _Thunder means lightning. Must find shelter._ He crawled forward slowly through the snow, straining against the wind, dragging his bag behind him. The ground sloped downwards, and he lost his balance, tumbling head over heels to the bottom, landing face first in the snow. He lay there for a few seconds, then pushed himself up, sputtering and coughing. A sharp pain lanced his side, and he clutched it, gasping. _Probably cracked a rib when I fell. At least this ridge blocks the wind._ He rolled over onto his back. A second bank of dark clouds swirled ahead of him. _Not for long..._ He slowly eased himself up, pushing against the pain, and stood to his feet. _Gotta keep moving..._ McCoy trudged through the bitterly cold snow, one hand grabbing the right side of his chest. The ground was white everywhere he looked; snow drifts came up to his knees. Suddenly, his earlier joke about being buried in snow by Jim didn't seem so funny anymore. _What a way to go...I'm a doctor, not a freezie._

Just as he reached the next ridge, the incoming front hit him, knocking him flying backwards onto his back into the snow. He groaned and blinked several times. _Is it just me, or is the sky getting darker?_ A crunching sound to the left of his head made him turn to look. A shadowy figure stood near him. _Jim?_ The black clouds filled his vision and he knew nothing.

* * *

McCoy woke to cold and silence. He opened his eyes slowly; blurry shapes danced on the ceiling. _Ceiling? Where am I?_ He shivered and blinked, teeth chattering. A rough blanket covered his body, but it didn't make him feel any warmer. He squirmed sideways, trying to make himself more comfortable, but that only aggravated his ribs.

" _Ahhh_..." His head turned from side to side, making him dizzy. As he shut his eyes again, he felt something damp and furry brush his forehead. It felt soothing, like something a nurse would do. He relaxed and breathed more evenly, feeling the tension leave his muscles. The soft object smoothed his hair back gently, then reached down towards his chest and pulled the blanket up higher under his chin before walking away.

"Th-thank you." He tried to catch a glimpse of his caregiver, but he felt so weak and tired. _I'm sick...if I were my own doctor, I'd say shut up and sleep. So..._ He squeezed his eyes shut and succumbed to his fatigue.

Hours later, he awoke to the sound of his own screaming. _Gorn...Gorn...they're everywhere! In the cave...that shifty- eyed one...the one that stares into your soul...coming closer-_ Sweat poured down his face. His lips trembled, and his breathing came rapidly. Everything was on fire.

"Burning...burning..." The same figure that had approached him earlier came closer. He reached up and grabbed a handful of their cloak. "Don't you see-it's coming to-" He gasped as the person packed snow on his legs and arms, then sighed as he realized how good it felt. "Mmm...mmnnum..." A small spoon approached his lips, and he parted them out of instinct, sipping a broth that tasted faintly like celery. More spoonfuls followed; Leonard drank until his eyes became heavy again.

He fell asleep and awoke several times over the next few days, always to the same figure adjusting his blanket, or giving him more broth, or touching his arm comfortingly when he suffered from nightmares. Sometimes, the chill of snow alleviated the burning heat of his skin. Though his nurse was oddly silent, he found reassurance in their presence. It was the one constant he had left, besides pain and weakness. _Everything will be okay...it's all right._ All thoughts of samples and snowstorms and the _Enterprise_ flew out of his head. _Just get better...stronger..._

Occasionally, he saw flickers from the light of a fire dancing on the cave walls, and reached out a hand to touch the glowing shapes. It was kind of pretty, in a feverish, chilly way. Other times, he was too exhausted and dizzy to watch anything move anywhere, so he spent those moments trying to be still and not think. When he did think, his mind ran around in feverish circles, taunting him with tasks uncompleted and moments that had already passed. _Don't think...don't worry...focus on breathing..._

* * *

" _Signal's coming from in here_."

McCoy squinted as light flooded the room, letting in a flurry of light snowflakes. "Close the...door." He sat up from the ground, coughing. "You'll let in a draft." Two dark shapes moved towards him, past the fire, which was now reduced to a cold pile of ashes. They dropped down next to his pallet and reached into their bags. A hand pressed against his chest, pushing him back down. A soft clicking sound preceded a tiny point of light that shone into his eyes, while a small object ran back and forth above his body.

"Don't move, Leonard. We'll get you out of here. Captain! In here!" One of the people, who McCoy now recognized as Medical Technician Shiloh, glanced briefly over his shoulder before returning his gaze to the tricorder readings. "Possible pneumonia in both lungs, and I think he hit his head, too."

A third figure burst through the flap of fabric that covered the door, skidding to his side in a flash. "Bones!" The medical techs moved out of his way and began unfolding a collapsible hammock-style stretcher. Kirk dropped down to the ground. His cheeks were flushed from the cold. "I don't believe it. You're alive." He squeezed McCoy's shoulder. "Everybody thought..."

McCoy held up a hand to silence him. "Yeah, well, they were _almost_ right." He coughed several times, covering his mouth with his hands. Kirk clapped him on the back until he stopped. "That freak storm must've messed up the transporter. Where exactly am I, anyway?"

"Ten miles from the beam-out location. You've been missing for over a _week_. "

McCoy gaped at him. "A _week_?!"

Kirk nodded. "Storm lasted eight days. It finally calmed down about three hours ago." The captain stood up, frowning. "As I said, nobody held out much hope for your...y-your...and we were going to leave, but, uh, Spock suggested an in-depth analysis of the unique weather patterns would more than make up for our truncated research opportunity." He moved out of the way as the techs approached him, laying the stretcher down next to his pallet.

 _Bless his heart._ "You concurred, I assume?" Hands rolled him sideways and onto the stretcher. He felt his body lift up off the ground and begin moving towards the mouth of the cave.

Kirk smirked. "Natch." He pushed the flap of fabric out of the way as McCoy and the techs exited into the light. "How'd you make it so far in the storm, anyway?"

McCoy shook his head. "I don't know, but I think somebody _carried_ me to the cave. Looked after me, too. I was pretty sick at first."

Kirk shook his head, following the stretcher. "You must've been hallucinating. _Nobody_ lives up here permanently."

Shiloh pulled out his comm. "Shiloh to sickbay. We've located Doctor McCoy alive..."

"Nobody? Well, _somebody_ sure saved my butt." McCoy let his arms hang down at his sides. "Granted, I _did_ have a few fever dreams – mostly about Gorn – but how could I possibly dream up a rescuer? Or a fire? You saw the ashes."

"I suppose. Maybe it was one of those Kalwe holdouts. A scout or something." Kirk tapped his lower lip with one finger, stopping as something occurred to him. "Hey...he didn't try to touch your face and me- nah, that's ridiculous." He leaned over and exchanged a few words with the other tech.

A cool breeze blew over the doctor's face, and he smiled, taking as deep a breath as he could. "Ahh, fresh air." His nose twitched. "Achoo!"

Kirk looked over his shoulder, then turned and stared at McCoy's uniform. A chuckle rolled up from his throat. "Hey, Bones, you're shedding." He picked up something light and dangled it in the air.

"What?" He touched his uniform shirt and brought his hand in front of his face. Long, wispy, grey hairs covered his palm. He looked down at his chest. More loose hairs were scattered about on his body. _Where did...my rescuer...it couldn't be...well, maybe there_ is _something to those old legends, after all..._ "Huh...well, I'll be..." He turned his head and looked up at the captain as the transporter beam surrounded the four of them. "Hey, Jim, I think I may have found your _wumyo_ after all..."


	7. Guilt

"Nurse, get me 15 ccs of evotalynine XT," McCoy muttered, his gaze still focused on the squirming toddler on the cot. He'd finally managed to calm the little boy down long enough to assess his condition. For someone who had been buried underneath the rubble of a crashed starship for at least seventy-two hours, he was remarkably healthy. Only a few scratches marred his tanned face. To be on the safe side, however, he'd administer antibiotics to the alert Cenutrian child. The toddler clapped his hands and gave McCoy a two-toothed grin, which the doctor returned with significantly more dentition. _Hate to wipe the smile off your face, darlin', but you'll thank me someday._

Accepting the hypospray from the outstretched hand of Nurse Etienne, he pressed the injector end against the child's thigh and released the medication. To Leonard's surprise, the boy merely looked down at his leg, tapping the spot with the fingers of his right hand before putting them in his mouth. "Brave boy. You could teach my captain a thing or two," he laughed. "Now let's get those scratches seen to, okay?" He knew the child couldn't possibly understand him, but the way he stared at McCoy with wide, almost anime-like eyes that were so serious made him wonder.

He took a moment to survey his surroundings. Patrulan Field Hospital 8 was still a work in progress; boxes of supplies and makeshift curtains divided the triage areas from waiting and surgical sections. If you wanted to find anything in particular, your tricorder was your best bet. Personally, McCoy didn't see how anyone could stand this kind of disorganization, but he supposed it was better than no hospital at all.

Three days ago, a ship full of Cenutrians escaping famine conditions on their homeworld had crashed into the colony planet Patrula IV. The passenger craft had been absolutely stuffed to the gills with desperate people longing for a second chance; many had sold all they owned just to buy passage, which wasn't much. While Cenutria _did_ possess warp technology, most of the refugees were poor civilians with little access to such things, so to have a man show up and offer to take them somewhere new must have seemed like a miracle. McCoy didn't have a single nice word for the slimeball trader who'd actually _taken_ their money, but he supposed it didn't really matter. The man was beyond caring, having been incinerated on impact. _Good riddance_.

As the colony planet was a good distance away from the Patrulan homeworld, Field Hospital 8 was ill-prepared for the sudden influx of patients resulting from the crash. That was where the _Enterprise_ came in. Forty-six hours ago, they'd picked up the request for immediate medical assistance on the comms, much to McCoy's relief. He had been on the losing end of a three-dimensional chess game with Spock and was on the verge of having to admit defeat when he'd been summoned. _Knowing him, the board's probably_ still _just as I left it._ It had been sheer chaos from the moment they arrived to about three hours ago, when a Patrulan vessel had arrived with reinforcements. Fortunately, Cenutrian anatomy wasn't that different from other races they'd encountered in the past, so McCoy and his staff were a little more confident.

Picking up a small tissue regenerator, he held it near the child's temple, effectively erasing a half-inch scratch above his left eyebrow. The child tried to reach for it with chubby hands, but McCoy moved the instrument slightly and continued to work. "Hey, that's not a toy; it's a highly sophisticated piece of medical equipment."

"Is what is?" A flutelike voice from behind McCoy made him pause and look to his right. A small girl child, about 8 or 9 in human years, leaned over the edge of the cot, her fingers splayed across its surface. _How did she get in here?_ "Is what is, Doctor?" She shot a brief glance at McCoy's patient, but the toddler seemed more interested in his toes than the intruder.

McCoy tipped his head to one side, regenerator poised in midair. "Now who might you be, young lady?"

"Be I Malua." A mat of tight dark curls covered her small head. She looked up at him kind of shyly, but with intelligence. She tugged on his hand. "Help you? Water?" Her wide eyes pleaded with him to say yes.

McCoy licked his lips. "Well, now that you mention it, I _am_ kind of thirsty..." Malua needed no further encouragement. Like a flash, she darted past the curtain and down the corridor, small white sandals tapping against the earth. He chuckled and returned his attention to the little boy, who was now tugging on one corner of the cot's clean sheet.

Just as he finished with the last scratch, a slight breeze tickled his spine. "That you again, Malua?" He picked up his patient in his arms and turned around, only to bump into a curly haired lieutenant carrying a PADD.

"No, doctor." Pavel Chekov tucked the tablet under one arm and poked the child's nose, eliciting a soft squeal. "Who is this?" he asked.

McCoy hefted the child higher up on his hip. "I don't know, to be honest. Poor little fella was trapped in a crawlspace when rescue teams found him. Really hoping he's not an orphan." He nodded at the PADD. "Got something for me?"

Chekov removed the PADD from under his arm and blushed as he looked down at the screen. "Sorry. I got distracted. The Cenutrian Civilian Authority _finally_ granted us access to their wital statistics databases."

He didn't elaborate, but McCoy could well imagine that getting to "finally" had involved a good deal of red tape cutting on the captain's part. _I owe you one, Jim._ "It's about darn time," he sighed, taking the PADD from Chekov.

"I've tagged all individuals believed to be aboard the _Haweel_ vhen it crashed. We've already managed to account for some of the living and...most of the dead." Chekov stared down at his feet. "Fingerprint and DNA data is on there, too."

"Now we're getting somewhere." McCoy tapped the screen twice, bringing up the reader. He turned to the toddler, who stuck out his tongue at McCoy. "Hey, that isn't very nice. See this device, kid? It's gonna tell me your name." He pressed the child's finger to the screen, and almost instantly, a record file popped up. "'Thukas Marol'," he read. "According to this, we've got his mother in ward 3. She'll be happy to see her little-"

The curtain parted again, and Malua entered, carrying a small cup of clear liquid. "Drink you have now."

McCoy set down the PADD and accepted the cup from her small hands. "Thank you, Malua." He drank, surprised by the light, fruity taste. "This isn't water. What is it?"

"Flower water." The young girl walked over to the bed and sat down on the edge, swinging her feet back and forth, eyes once again fixed on the regenerator.

"Is that who you thought I vas?" Chekov asked, pointing to Malua.

"Uh huh. I think she wants to be my little helper. Offered to get me water." He passed Thukas to Chekov, who took the child in his arms. "How'd you like to facilitate a family reunion, Pavel?"

Chekov nodded. "I'd love to. C'mon, Thukas. Your mommy will be so happy to see you!" As they left the room together, Thukas began to sing loudly.

McCoy let the curtain fall closed and stepped back towards the cot. Malua was studying the regenerator closely. "Is help this?" she asked, holding up a bloody finger. "Like boy?"

"Let me see that, sugar." McCoy took her thin wrist in his hand, feeling her pulse beat against his palm, and inspected her small wound. While the tiny pulled hangnail wound would be classified in the "suck it up, baby" category if an officer came into sickbay with one, little girls were another matter altogether. "Hmm...I think we can fix this up." He lifted her up onto the cot gently, clicked on the device and began to repair the damaged tissue. Malua watched with wonder as her wound closed underneath the beam. "See? All better," he assured her, switching off the regenerator.

She studied her finger from several different angles, then grabbed his sleeve. "You I show, let do."

"Let do what?" McCoy asked, frowning, but not unkindly.

Her hand reached for the regenerator again. "Please, let do. Help I one. Like you," she continued, sliding off the edge of the cot.

Realization dawned. "Oh. You want to help fix someone? Like I did?" He crouched down until he was eye level with her. "Good for you. I think you'd make a _fine_ doctor someday."

Her gaze flicked away from his, darkening. "Not doctor. I Xami always." She crossed her arms over her chest. "Xami nothing." A tear ran down her face. "Forget."

There were three different subraces on Cenutria. Xami were the Dalits of their people, the untouchables; a majority of the injured refugees were Xami.

McCoy's heart ached for her. _No wonder they left. No future even without the famine._ "Tell you what, Malua," he whispered, brushing the tear from her cheek, "you go right ahead and forget, okay? _This_ is your home now, Patrula IV. If you want to be a doctor, if that's your dream, don't you _ever_ stop dreaming. 'Cause you're gonna make it. You are a very special little girl, Malua. You hear me?"

Malua nodded, sniffling. Suddenly, she threw her arms around McCoy's neck. "Like you much," she whispered back, her voice muffled by his sweater.

Leonard returned the hug, feeling warm all over. "Like you much too." He stood up slowly and took her hand in his. "Tell you what; why don't you come along on rounds with me?" Malua smiled up at him and nodded. As she followed him out of the room, he began preparing a list of Cenutrians who weren't too badly injured that they could visit together.

McCoy splashed his face with cold water, shivering. After four hours of visiting patients and showing Malua how to "help" them get better, he was dead on his feet. _But not sorry._ A smile crossed his lips as he remembered how his little protégée had measured vital signs and studied scans, a thoughtful expression on her young face. She was like a little sponge soaking up every word McCoy said, asking him about blood and numbers and medicine. Most of the _Enterprise_ staff still remaining planetside were amused by the scene. Lieutenant Uhura had even kidded McCoy about his little shadow when she'd come to the field hospital delivering blankets and stuffed toys for the children. She'd offered Malua a teddy bear, but the child didn't seem to notice, too busy poring over an image of a broken bone on a PADD.

"Too busy with her studies to play?" Uhura asked McCoy

The doctor put an arm around the girl's shoulders. "Well, Malua here wants to be a doctor. I'm teaching her a little bit."

"Good for her." Uhura nodded. "And you, too, Leonard."

"I'm not the _only_ bleeding heart around here." McCoy raised an eyebrow. "I have it on good authority that those little goodies you're giving out cost _somebody_ a month's worth of replicator credits."

Uhura blushed. "So I'll skip dessert for a little while. It was worth it. Besides," she added, "even though it was my idea, everybody kind of chipped in."

"Still though..." He raked a hand over his face. "How's Jim doing with the negotiations? Making progress?"

The lieutenant smiled. "Moving right along. The Patrulan government has agreed to grant refugee status to the Cenutrians. Looks like they've got a new home."

McCoy looked down at Malua. "Hear that? You get to stay." She gave him a bright smile and returned to her studies.

After Uhura left, McCoy had picked up the PADD with identification records on it and held it out to the girl. "Malua, would you touch this screen for me?" He'd been meaning to figure out who she belonged to since he met her, but had held back, afraid of what he might find out.

The girl tapped the screen with her finger once. McCoy took the PADD and held it behind his back. "Thank you. You've been a very good helper. But I bet you're hungry. Why don't you go down to the eating room and get some dinner?"

"Yes go." Malua slid off her chair and headed out through the curtain, leaving the PADD with the bone picture behind.

McCoy crossed the room and lowered himself into the chair, looking down at the records. Malua Rsera was actually closer to eleven, though he supposed the famine had something to do with her younger appearance. He stilled as he'd seen that the familial cross-reference field remained blank. _No family here...how did she wind up on the_ Haweel? A quick look revealed that the girl had no living close relatives, no home address, and no assets to speak of on Cenutria. _Probably stowed away. It wouldn't be hard in a crowd that large._

He exchanged a nod with a Patrulan doctor as the man left the temporary washroom facility. _Now, to find a bed somewhere...I don't care if it's cozy. Heck, I don't even care if it's_ clean _. I'll sleep on the_ floor _if I have to._ He thought longingly of his bed on the _Enterprise_ , sighing. He wouldn't see it for a couple more days; Jim had gone to rendezvous with a second Patrulan supply ship that had become disabled halfway to the colony. _Time was, I used to be homesick for Earth..._

McCoy shoved his hands in his pockets, surprised when he felt nothing there. _I thought I put that regen-_ "Malua." He smiled and shook his head. "Little pickpocket." The device had held as much wonder to the child as a magic trick. _Oh, well. I'll ask her for it back tomorrow._ _Now, to get some shuteye..._

McCoy looked down at the sleeping infant nestled in his mother's arms. _Lucky you._ He'd only gotten three hours of sleep before he'd been roused by a nurse to deliver the little bundle, who'd finally arrived at the crack of dawn. It had been a difficult labour, but you wouldn't know it by the look of utter contentment on the new mother's face. He made some notes on her record, passing the PADD to a nurse. _I wish Malua could see this..._ He wondered where the girl was; since last night, he hadn't seen hide nor hair of her, despite having visited several other patients that morning.

A low rumble shook the curtain rods, and everybody in the ward steadied themselves. McCoy leaned on a stack of crates. _What was that?_ He thought of the rescue teams, which had switched to recovery at this point. _Where there's wreckage, there's_ always _danger._ They'd already had to treat several crewmembers for wounds caused by falling debris from the _Haweel_. "Get ready for another influx, Ellis," he said. "New day, new problems."

The nurse finished washing her hands and snapped on a fresh pair of gloves. "You know it." She tipped her chin in the direction of the eating room. "You might want to fortify yourself while you have the chance."

"Good idea." Ducking down the hall, he joined the line for the only working replicator and made himself a buttered bagel, folding both slices in half and downing them in two bites, washing them down with a cup of coffee. _To blazes with choking hazards..._ Just as he finished the last dregs, a loud cry caught his attention.

"HELP!"

McCoy dropped his cup on the ground, running for the front door. He shoved the flap open and looked out into the distance, shading his eyes. A lone figure was flying down the hillside, arms laden with a heap of... _something...dripping. Wait...not something, some_ one... _oh, God..._ "Over here!" he called, frantically waving the individual closer.

"Doctor McCoy!" Pavel Chekov ran up to him and skidded to a stop. His face was as pale as a sheet,, eyes wide open, his breathing heavy. Wet blood stained his gold uniform shirt. "I couldn't get there in time! I...couldn't..." A large gash ran down his right arm; several scratches covered his hands. Both sleeves were reduced to ribbons near the cuffs.

"Shhh..." McCoy placed a hand on his arm to steady him, then opened his arms to receive the limp body. It was feather-light. _A child..._ His heart clenched. "I'll take it from here," he assured the young navigator. "What happened?" he asked as he headed quickly for the trauma section, beckoning to nearby nurses to follow him.

Chekov followed behind, wringing his hands. "I-I vas at the v-vreckage site, downloading information from the flight c-computer. There were some children, playing n-nearby. I shooed them avay _several_ times. But there vas one...she said she heard something inside." He bit his lower lip. "I told her, _'stop, don't go in there, it's dangerous'_ , but she didn't listen. Just said, _'Help I them'._ " A swallow and a shake of his head. "She vas in the cargo section, and s-suddenly there was a-a-an _explosion_ -"His voice choked off.

"Thank you, Pavel," McCoy nodded. "Make sure you get someone to see to your _own_ wounds." The officer nodded back, and stayed in the corridor. A nurse handed him a bottle of water on her way into the room and he thanked her.

McCoy rushed through the door of a trauma room, setting the bloody bundle on a cot. His mind whirled with the information Chekov had given him. _Explosion...wreckage...so burns and shrapnel injuries..._ Reaching for a tricorder on a cart nearby, he turned it on, then turned his attention to the child on the cot.

Leonard gaped in horror. Angry red burns covered her face and arms. The fabric of her dress was melted in some spots, sticking to her skin; in other places, pieces of dark blue metal pinned it against her body. A nine-inch shard jutted out of her chest on the left side. _Dear Lord in heaven..._ He scanned her life signs as medical staff filled the room. Nothing registered. "No vital signs...nurse, give me 10 ccs of-" _Clink_. A small object rolled out of the child's dress pocket and onto the floor.

McCoy stilled, his own heart stopping. _The regenerator_... _Malua._ He lifted one hand to his mouth, shocked. _She's unrecognizable..._ The world seemed to tilt on its axis, and everything began to blur. He blinked, turning back to the girl's body, and watched for several minutes as the other medical officers and Patrulan staff ran diagnostics on her. After two minutes, their activity slowed. McCoy strained to hear the sound of life signs registering on the monitors. None came.

He grabbed the arm of Dr. Qawveko, the Patrulan surgeon who'd given him a rushed five-minute tour of the facility prior to his beginning to work there. "Did you try the rhyscempaline? Ketingaidium?!"

Qawveko frowned, trying to move past him. "Yes, Doc-"

McCoy shook the man's arm, eyes wide, face close to the other man's. "What about tweribium metacalcate-surely that-"

The doctor shook his head. "It wouldn't have _worked_ , Doctor. She was too far gone." He put a hand on McCoy's shoulder, his single eyelid lowering. "I'm sorry. Really, I am. I know you cared about her." Qawveko pushed past McCoy and stepped out of the room. Behind them, medical staff worked to clean up the used tools and meds.

A nurse lifted a yellow sheet and pulled it over Malua's body. Tears slipped from McCoy's eyes. _She can't be dead! She just can't be._ The vital signs monitor cut as it was turned off. Staff filed out of the room, leaving only McCoy and the child who'd thought he could make everything better. He pictured her curious, intelligent face as he fixed her boo-boo, the way she had studied everything he had showed her...

He swallowed hard and staggered backwards into a chair. As he slumped down into it, the leg of the chair hit the edge of the regenerator. As he reached down for it, it seemed smaller in his hands than it had before. McCoy switched it on and off.

And then he remembered what Chekov had said.

 _"_ _I told her, '_ stop, don't go in there, it's dangerous' _, but she didn't listen. Just said, '_ Help I them' _."_

 _'_ Help I them _.' She went. Into the wreckage. To help._

 _Just like me._

A sick feeling roiled in his gut. _I killed her. I KILLED her._ Rage boiled up in his chest and he squeezed the regenerator hard until his knuckles turned white. "AGH!" He threw it, hard, against the floor, then reached for the curtain, ripped it down, and balled it up, chest heaving. _She's dead because of me. Because I told her it was okay to dream. I told her. I killed her..._

He didn't know how he wound up on the floor on his knees, crying, or how a mug of mint tea wound up in his hands, a blanket around his shoulders. He didn't know how long he slept after that, only that he woke up in a dark, quiet room, somewhere in the field hospital. Alone.

Unwrapping the blanket around him, he sat up on the cot and slid towards the edge. A pitcher and a cup lay on a pushcart nearby. _Water_... _she brought me water._ He poured himself some and drank, knowing dehydration wouldn't do him any favours. Blinking, he rubbed some of the crust out of his eyes and stretched. _I can't stay here...I've got to do something._..

McCoy headed down the hall, realizing it was late by the darkness of the rooms. He stopped a nurse briefly, and when she gave him the answer he was looking for, he thanked her and turned right, stopping at a small room at the end of the corridor. He shoved his hand into his pocket and felt the slim barrel of the regenerator. _How did that...never mind._

He flipped up the curtain and stepped inside. It didn't take him long to find what he was looking for. Malua's small body lay on a small table on the left side of the room. She had been cleaned and dressed in a soft gray robe by two of the Cenutrian women who had been given the task. Normally, in Cenutrian culture, someone would sit all night with the body of the deceased, usually a close relative. But Malua had no one. _Except me..._

Leonard swallowed and pulled a small folding stool close to the girl's side, sitting down. He reached out a hand and stroked her head gently, feeling her curls, now clean and unmatted, against his fingers. "Hey, sugar. Don't be afraid. I'm not going to leave you alone tonight." He took her hand in his and kissed it, eyes closed, feeling the chill of death on his lips. "I may have failed you once, Malua, but not again." Tears leaked from his eyes. "Not again."

A soft breeze came from the entryway, and McCoy's heart thudded, half expecting the little girl to be standing there, alive and smiling. He lifted his head, only to see Chekov instead. "May I come in?"

McCoy nodded. "Sure." He pulled another chair up, and Chekov crossed the room, sitting down slowly. "How's your arm?"

"Is good, thank you, Doctor." Chekov leaned forward, looking at Malua's peaceful face. "I-I just had to be here tonight."

"I know how you feel." McCoy frowned as the Russian sniffled, trying to hide it with a cough. "Pavel?" He put a hand on his shoulder. "Are you crying?"

" _Nyet_. Vell, maybe..." He looked up at McCoy, his face still pale, his freckles standing out. He covered his face with his hands and muttered something unintelligible.

McCoy leaned forward. "What is it?"

"It's all _my_ fault," Chekov said, inhaling shakily.

 _What?_

"I should have run faster...maybe then I could have stopped her from going in there. She vould be alive now if I had only gotten there in time." He sighed. "I am so, so, sorry, Doctor."

McCoy stood up suddenly, knocking his stool over. "No. No, Pavel. Don't be. It's _not_ your fault. If you _had_ run faster, _you'd_ be lying under a sheet, too!" He began to pace back and forth, making tight circles. "Don't blame yourself for her death. It's not _your_ fault at all! It's _mine_!"

Pavel's mouth formed an O. "How? The doctor said they did every-"

" _They_ did everything they could! What did I do? Couldn't even _move_ when I saw who it was lying there!" He rubbed his forehead, eyes squeezed shut. "Not only that, it was because of _me_ that she even got k-killed in the first place!" He bent over the navigator, punctuating his words with finger jabs at Chekov's chest. "She said to me that she couldn't be a doctor because where she comes from, she's nothing. And what did I do? I looked her in the eyes and told her to dream big, to believe it could happen someday." He let out a strangled cry. "She was going into the wreckage to _help_ someone, Pavel." McCoy held up the regenerator in one hand. "Just like I showed her." He shook his head sadly. "I may as well have blown up the fool ship myself. I _killed_ that _precious_ little girl. I-"

"No." Chekov shook his head.

McCoy paused. "No, what?"

Chekov straightened up McCoy's stool and pulled him down onto it. His face took on a serious expression as he exhaled softly. "No, you did _not_ do anything wrong." He leaned forward, arms resting on his thighs. "You gave her _hope_ , Doct-"

"Yeah. False hope."

" _Listen_ _to me."_ The lieutenant grabbed him by the shoulders. "You may have been the first person in her entire _life_ to tell her that she mattered. That she was special, waluable. _Loved_. Every child needs to hear that." He paused. "You did _not_ kill Malua. Think, _Doctor_." Chekov placed a hand on top of McCoy's arm. "She vould have tried to help anyvay. That's who she _vas_."

 _She brought me water..._ McCoy closed his eyes, shuddering. "I-I want to believe that. But I can't help thinking, if I'd just-"

"There vas nothing else you could do. Nothing else _anyvone_ could do." The lieutenant's features softened as he realized what he'd just said. " _Anyvone_..." He sighed. "Except this." He placed one warm hand over the little girl's cold one. "Keep wigil, I mean."

Leonard smiled sadly at the young man. "Yes. Yes, we can do that much." The soft sound of footsteps echoed away from their room, along with the rattling sound of a pushcart. He flipped up a small flap in the wall and looked out at the dark burgundy sky, peppered by twinkling stars. Soft, red moonlight shone on his face. _It's going to be a long, sad night._ He looked back at Pavel, who was muttering something softly in Russian, probably a prayer. _But not a lonely one...goodnight, Malua._


	8. Heights

_One blasted adrenaline rush after another. I'll be lucky if I can fall asleep tonight._

Leonard McCoy pressed one finger against a small screen, watching as a pale blue light glimmered against his skin before turning green. "All right, I cleared. Can I have my treat now?"

The dimpled elderly woman behind the counter passed him a multi-colored frozen concoction on a slender stick. "Enjoy the best of what Seula has to offer, Doctor." She reached down behind the counter and passed him a napkin. "Careful, it's dripping."

McCoy accepted both ice pop and napkin. As he backed away from the booth, he bumped into a man carrying a small child in each arm. "Sorry," he muttered, but the man didn't seem to notice him; he was too busy refereeing an argument between his two charges. Leonard ducked as a thrown drinking straw sailed through the air over his head. The father barked something at them in Seulan and they shut up immediately. _Guess that really was_ "the last straw", he mused, taking a large bite from his pop.

At first, cool sweetness ran down his tongue and lips, and he savoured the rush of cold on a sunny day.

It didn't last long.

Fire kindled in the back of his throat and spread through every nerve in his mouth. It was as though he'd drunk gasoline and swallowed a match. He began to cough violently, alternated with panting and gasping. The pop dropped from his hand and landed on the ground as he bent over at the waist and brought both hands to his head, squinting. _Heaven and hell on a stick...I should've known._

"I don't blame you. _Var-tel's_ an acquired taste." McCoy's head jerked upwards. Jim leaned against a brightly colored interactive signpost, holding a pink glass bottle in one hand. His expression turned serious. "You okay, Bones?"

McCoy dragged in a single breath, then another. "What? No smart remarks about the fire-breathing doctor?" He wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve.

Kirk held up one hand in a gesture of surrender. "Nope. Just this." He handed the bottle to McCoy, who looked at it as if it might contain poison. "Relax. It's just spring water. No surprises. I promise."

McCoy unscrewed the cap and drained the bottle in one long swig. A pleasant cool sensation filled his mouth again, with just a tang of dissolved salt tickling his tastebuds. "Phew. If I _never_ have one of those again, it'll be too soon. They oughta call it an 'inferno-sicle'." He frowned. "Wait. You said it was an 'acquired taste'. Don't tell me _you_ acquired it."

"Nah. It was in the visitor's guide." He spread his hands wide. "I actually haven't eaten anything since we landed. I mean, this isn't the sort of place you want to visit on a full stomach, am I right?"

"Amen to that." McCoy walked over to a bench underneath a tall purple tree and sat down, Kirk following.

Adrenaline was practically a religion to the Seulans. Their entire planet was covered with attractions that promised one thrill after another, each one boasting that _it_ was the ultimate experience. The shuttleboat driver who'd escorted the _Enterprise_ visitors to the Irel Adventure Park had employed a series of high speed evasive manoeuvres that rivalled the worst simulator exercises McCoy'd experienced at the academy for degree of sheer terror. There were no seats, restraints or handholds in the passenger section; instead, the walls were covered with shock-absorbing foam so passengers could bounce around inside. Some of the crew didn't seem to mind, laughing it off; others looked a little pale. Kirk was staggering about, laughing. Before he could check Jim for a concussion, he'd disappeared through the gates. McCoy had double-checked himself to make sure he wasn't missing any parts. He'd stifled a laugh when he'd caught Spock doing the same thing, but the Vulcan's hearing was too keen to avoid noticing.

"Prime Directive aside, I find I _am_ tempted to question the recklessness of his driving." Spock raised an eyebrow as he watched a line of Seulans boarding the boat for a return trip. The driver stood by the ramp, holding out a passage confirmation tablet for them to touch.

McCoy had arched a brow back. " _I'm_ tempted to tell him what he can _do_ with that tub."

Before either man could give in to their respective temptations, however, they were pushed through the doors of the park by an eager crowd of Starfleet officers and Seulans alike. The three hours that followed was pure fear, interspersed by a few moments of waiting for the next horrifying experience. Between a roller coaster that was part Mobius strip, part rocket car to an underwater glass-enclosed Ferris wheel filled with carnivorous fish, McCoy's heart had gotten a thorough workout.

A light breeze stirred McCoy's hair. He leaned against the bench's wooden back. "They oughta call this place 'Phobialand'. I'm surprised this bench hasn't begun to fly away with us."

"Maybe it's got an ejector seat," Kirk suggested.

"Heh, heh. Yeah." McCoy yawned, covering his mouth with one hand. "I think I'm ready for a nap. You?"

The captain stared at McCoy as if he'd just grown wings. "Are you kidding? We've only seen half the park. There's a whole other section on the west side of the island, just over the mountains." His eyes fairly glowed. _Like a kid on Christmas morning._ "They've got this one ride where you're freefalling through virtual space and you have to destroy projectiles-"

"Hold it." McCoy held up a hand. "I'm a doctor, not a starship. If _you_ want to cheat death for kicks, I can't stop you. Lord knows I've tried. But I'd rather keep all my limbs, thank you very much."

Kirk nodded. "Okay. That's cool. Stay here." He crossed his arms and walked over to the edge of the tiled walkway nearby. "If you want to miss the game, be my guest."

 _I know I shouldn't ask, but..._ "What game?" McCoy leaned forward, propping his chin on one hand.

Kirk unwrapped a small blue candy and popped it in his mouth. "Oh, nothing. Just the final round of a big _toverget_ tournament, that's all. Nothing you'd be interested in."

"Says who?" He'd had the pleasure of watching two teams of _tovergetars_ in action last night at a banquet given in their honor. The sport was a combination of American football, wrestling, and swimming, all in a reduced gravity environment. McCoy had been on the edge of his seat the entire time. After a long, intense battle, the white team had won, much to the doctor's satisfaction. Mr. Scott was decidedly less thrilled about the outcome; he'd lost a bet to a Seulan aide and a crate of whiskey along with it. "Who's playing?"

"Kyre-suhung versus Wtauvely," Kirk replied, naming two Seulan territories. "A grudge match tiebreaker." The candy rattled against his teeth as he turned and grinned at McCoy. "Did I mention it's the _women_ 's league?"

 _Oh, for crying out loud..._ "Fine. I'll go." He shook one finger in Kirk's face. "And just for the record, you already convinced me _before_ that last part." McCoy shoved his hands in his pockets. "So. A, how do we get there, and B, will I live to regret it?"

Kirk cracked his knuckles. "A, a cable car will take us over the mountain. As for B..." They headed across the park together in the direction of the gates, the captain briefly stopping to pitch his candy wrapper.

"Hold it. A _what_ now?"

Kirk threw his arm around the doctor's shoulders. "Trust me. You'll regret it more if we _don't_ go."

"I don't care _how_ lovely the view is up close. I can see it just fine from over here." Leonard crossed his arms over his chest and wiggled backwards in his seat until he was almost molded to the shape of the cable car's corner. He opened one eye and gazed toward the opposite end where Kirk had his nose pressed to the window. They had the whole thing to themselves, surprisingly. The car was entirely made of thick, clear glass, tapering at the ceiling like a triangular prism; small vents filled each corner. Green seats that were slightly softer than a concrete block surrounded the inside so that passengers could look down at the mountains below through the transparent floor. Each of the cars was separated by a few hundred feet.

"All _you_ can see is the inside of your eyelids, Bones. Quit being such a chicken and come look. It's spectacular." Kirk slid off his chair and stood up, throwing his hands in the air. "There's a crater lake below, and the water's this really weird shade of yellow..." A strange look came over his face, and he stood in the middle of the car, feet spread apart, and rocked back and forth, causing the car to shift with his weight.

"Stop that!" McCoy braced his arms against the walls, feeling his stomach slosh. "Have you gone off your rocker, Jim? We're in a big _glass_ _box_ , suspended _miles_ above the _ground_...can't you just _SIT down_ and _enjoy_ yourself _without_ killing _me_ in the process?!" His throat felt tight with panic as he focused on regulating his breathing. _The one ride on this blasted planet that actually goes straight and slow..._

Jim stopped rocking, but the car took a little longer to lose momentum. His face softened. "Sorry. No, I mean really." He crossed the floor and sat down beside McCoy, staring down through the floor at the mountains below. "I know thrills aren't your thing." Jim clapped McCoy on the back. "But, I gotta hand it to you. Between the coaster and that tractor beam bungee thing, I don't think you puked _once_."

McCoy smiled hesitantly. "Came _darn_ close, though." He sighed. "I guess as long as we're going to be up here for a while, I might as well make some progress." He lowered his head slowly, following Kirk's gaze.

"Attaboy."

A large bowl-shaped crevice opened up beneath them. Surrounded by craggy red rocks, it resembled a large, hungry mouth ready to swallow them whole. Inside the basin, frothy banana-yellow water lapped and foamed; several small birds swooped down towards the water, skimming the surface but never quite touching it. _It_ is _kinda beautiful, in a frightening way..._ McCoy reached into his pocket and removed a small holo-camera, raising it to eye level. He laughed as he caught Jim's surprised look out of the corner of his eye. "Well, it makes a lovely picture."

Kirk shrugged. Suddenly, he dropped to his hands and knees, rolled onto his back and wriggled into the camera's view. "Hey, take one of me."

McCoy pulled the camera down to the end of his nose. "Seriously?"

"As a heart attack," Jim replied, spreading his arms out. "If this glass wasn't so smeared, it'd look like I'm flying-

"-Or falling-"

"-but I'm sure you could fix that in an image editing program or something."

McCoy shook his head. "You're incorrigible," he growled good-naturedly.

"C'mon, less vocabulary lesson, more snap. My face is gonna freeze like this," Kirk urged, holding a smile.

 _You mean it hasn't already?_ But Leonard said nothing, just raised the holo-camera back up and took the shot. As he did, a bright flash of light appeared in the corner of the image. "Huh? What was that?"

Kirk stood up, brushing his clothes off. "What was what?"

McCoy passed him the camera, then pointed behind Kirk through the back window. "A bright flash of light. Over there."

The captain sat down on one of the chairs. "Probably just a reflection from the sun."

"Sunlight? It's overcast." McCoy passed Kirk on the way to the back of the car and looked back into the distance. He could just make out the next cable car, a tiny dark shape. _Must've imagined it._ "It's noth-" He stopped himself as another twinkle of light appeared. "Jim, c'mere. Bring the camera."

Kirk crossed the car in two large strides and passed the device to him. "What is it?"

"Not sure." Enabling the zoom feature, he pointed the camera at the distant car. He could make out its familiar shape as it traveled along the cable. Several agitated passengers were pressed against the glass. They seemed to be trying to get a view of the car's mechanism. McCoy followed their worried looks upwards and nearly dropped the camera.

Glowing orange flames licked at the wheel track; thick dark smoke billowed into the sky. McCoy swore under his breath. "Car's on fire!"

"Let me see." Jim pulled the camera from McCoy's hand and looked briefly. "Whoa, that's not good. Especially this far up in the air." He dropped the camera into a nearby seat and put his hands on his hips, thinking, gaze darting between the floor and the burning car.

"Not good for us, either. If the heat snaps that cable, we'll _all_ go down." Even as he said it, McCoy's stomach lurched. He felt around the door in vain for a handle.

"The ride attendant said the car doors are programmed to stay locked so nobody can fall out." Kirk pounded the wall with a fist. "Unfortunately, it also means nobody can _get_ out."

"There's _got_ to be a way..." McCoy rubbed his hands together nervously. Resolve hardening his features, he grabbed his medkit and secured it to his back. He reached up and gripped a metal rail with both hands, pulling himself up off the floor. He gave the window a few good blows with both feet, stopping to catch his breath. The glass pane had barely budged. "Well, what are you waiting for?" he called, looking over his shoulder at Kirk. "Help me kick this thing loose."

Kirk hauled himself upward. "That's what I like to hear. Just never thought I'd hear it from _you_." Both men kicked the windowpane in unison. "I seem -to recall- doing this before. Almost- killed me." The glass made a grating sound as the top side popped out of alignment. One final good blow and it slid out of the frame and tumbled to the ground below. Kirk and McCoy let go of the railing and dropped backwards.

"Okay. Here's the deal. Car's a few hundred feet away. We'll get there using the cable. Once we've arrived, you go up on top and try to put out the fire; I'll see what I can do about calming the passengers. We've probably got smoke inhalation, some burns..." McCoy raked one hand through his hair. "...and not a lot of time to stand around chit-chatting. Let's go." He bent over and stuck his head through the empty frame, feeling a rush of cool air on his face. He pushed his upper body out and turned, climbing up the outside of their car slowly.

"Telling me what to do, Bones?" Kirk asked as he followed McCoy, his fingers trying to find purchase on the frame.

McCoy looked downwards and immediately regretted it. His vision tracked past Jim towards the crater, which seemed to rise and lower in relation to the ground before spinning. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the cool glass against his cheek, and laughed weakly. "Sure. Haven't you ever heard of 'doctor's orders'?"

In two minutes he was straddling their car, hands pressed against the roof. Behind him, the cable wheels whirred quietly inside their protective casing. McCoy closed his eyes and breathed deeply as Kirk climbed up the side, his earlier bravado all but gone. He shaded his eyes, trying to see the burning car. Smoke continued to roll away from the roof. _There are people in trouble in there. You can do this._

Reaching one hand out into the empty space, he touched the thick cable, feeling its strength and tautness. "Still good." _For now, anyway._ He inched towards the edge slowly, knees pressed to the glass. Behind him, Kirk maintained his balance with more ease. Another foot forward and the doctor was astride the cable only briefly before wrapping his legs around it and surrendering to gravity with a sharp gasp. He rocked from side to side gently. The whole scenario brought back bad memories of a week- long optional boot camp exercise he'd attended on a dare or to impress a girl, he wasn't sure which. _Probably because it ended badly._ All he could recall was spending most of the time in the cold mud.

Sliding his hands along the cable, he drew his crossed legs towards his chest and back again, moving in the direction of the other car. "This isn't _so_ bad...I think..." The sweaty fingers of his right hand slipped, and he blew on them. "Spoke...too soon, maybe?" he croaked.

Kirk pulled himself upward behind McCoy before letting his weight hang slack. "C'mon, Bonesy, you can do it." His teeth gritted together in concentration. "It's as...easy as falling...off a log."

 _Don't say that!_ "You picked a...heck of a time...to make a... _falling_ joke." The possibility wasn't that unlikely; already, McCoy's arms felt like jelly. Rivulets of sweat dripped back over his scalp and towards the crater below. By now, the acrid smell of smoke was also making his nose tingle. He risked a dizzying glance back at Kirk. The captain's progress had halted just behind his own, but McCoy barely noticed as the ground below started to spin, slowly, around and around and-

"Move it, lard butt," Kirk growled, squirming forward and slapping the doctor's heel with one hand. McCoy twitched. "That's right, I'm talking to you, powder puff! Come on, let's go!"

McCoy recognized the snarl in his voice as a pretty good imitation of Commander Relat Ganis, the man who'd made his life hell that long, long week. Instinctively, he sucked in a breath and increased his pace, hand over hand and crossed legs sliding in sync with each other. "Yes, sir!"

The tight frown etched on Kirk's features disappeared, replaced by the captain's usual determined look. "There you go."

McCoy tensed his neck slightly. "'Lard butt?'"

Kirk shrugged as best as he could. "Whatever works."

Just as he was about to offer some kind of retort, the top of his head bumped up against the roof of the car. Smoke filled his nostrils, and he sneezed. _Now how am I going to get inside? Should've thought that through_ before _I shimmied over here._ "Jim, we've got a prob-"

 _Crash!_ Shards of glass rained from a window pane below him. Evidently, the Seulan occupants had realized that help was coming, or perhaps they were trying to get some fresh air. Whatever the reason, the unexpected point of ingress was more than welcome. Unwrapping his legs from the cable, he let them drop, kicking back and forth in the air before swinging towards the gap. Arms reached from the inside to pull him through, and he accepted their aid with relief. _Who's rescuing who?_ he wondered as he dropped to the floor of the car. Standing up on shaky legs, he turned and offered a thumbs-up to Jim, who nodded before pulling himself upward and onto the roof.

McCoy studied the occupants of the car through a haze of smoke. Eleven people of various ages, including five children and an elderly man, were seated on the floor, coughing, huddled together for comfort. Some of their faces were tear-streaked; most had pulled their collars up over their noses to filter out the smoke. The two who'd helped him inside were now calmly disassembling some kind of control system in the lower right corner, but judging by the worry lines on their brows, they weren't having much luck. He heard the thump of boots overhead and looked through the glass. Jim had taken off his sweater and was beating at the flames.

McCoy unstrapped the medkit from his back and dropped down to eye level, addressing the crowd. "I'm a doctor. How can I help?"

The old man he'd noticed earlier lifted his head, revealing rheumy eyes, and placed one hand over the center of his chest. "Nobody's hurt yet. Get us down." He winced, his face paling. The woman next to him, probably his daughter, squeezed his arm, fear flickering in her eyes.

McCoy removed his tricorder and began to scan the Seulan. The readings concerned him. He wasn't having a heart attack yet, but he was coming darn close. _And I thought I was afraid. Wimp,_ he chided himself. "Try to keep him calm," he cautioned the woman. She nodded, and put an arm over his shoulder as McCoy gave him something to ease his symptoms. It wasn't very effective, but it would have to do. He wasn't familiar enough with Seulan cardiology to risk a larger dose.

"Stay where you are. If you start to feel faint, put your head between your knees." He strode to the back of the car and stuck his head out the window. "Jim. That fire out yet?"

 _Cough, cough_. "Almost. How are things inside?"

"Smoky, but getting better. Several with smoke inhalation and one heart complication." Silence. "Jim?"

Kirk paced to the edge and met McCoy's gaze with a look that was part control, part fear. "We've got a problem. Flames ate through most of the cable grip attachment." He wiped his soot-streaked brow with one hand. "Could go at any time."

 _Wonderful._ "Why am I not surprised one bi-" A loud groan sounded as the car rocked back and forth, sending McCoy sliding into the crowd, landing on his left hip awkwardly. He grabbed a support bar with both hands to stop gravity from pulling his body forward. His head whipped upwards just in time to see Kirk fly off the roof. " _Jim!_ " Panic made his heart clench in his chest. After all they'd been through together, the thought of losing his best friend in a freak accident made him sick.

He almost fainted with relief as he saw two hands gripping the outer edge of the window. "Can't get rid of me that easily," Kirk chuckled weakly, one arm hooked over the pane, fingers splayed against the inside wall.

"I wish." McCoy crawled towards the window and grabbed Jim's arm tightly, pulling him up and over. "Gotcha." As Kirk kicked his leg upwards, his foot struck a grated metal panel, deploying a slender metal framework spread with mounds of billowing white fabric. "What'd you do?"

"I don't know," Kirk coughed, dusting himself off. He peered through the window. "Looks like some kind of sail."

Behind them, the two Seulan men stood up from the ground. "It's the emergency landing chute," the younger one explained. "We finally got it to deploy. If the car falls, as you say, it should glide to the ground."

The second man shook his head, gazing at the crater below. "I don't like 'should's. Give me 'already has' any day."

"I'm with you." McCoy agreed. "Unfortunately, I don't see any other way but down, do you?" He glanced back at his heart patient. Judging by the fear in the man's eyes, he doubted he'd care for either option.

The car jolted again, tipping slowly as the sails rustled in the wind. "This could be it," Kirk cautioned. "Get down as close to the ground as you can! Slowly!" The Seulans pressed themselves closer to the floor of the car, eyes closed; McCoy and Kirk did likewise.

 _CRACK!_

He had always thought it absurd to watch depictions of freefalling in cartoons; helpless victims suspended in midair for a few seconds before stretching like taffy and dropping like a rock. It was only now that he realized the accuracy of the _sensation_ , not so much its reality. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend he was prone on solid ground, all right in his world. _Ha._ He gritted his teeth, becoming one with the glass tiling. The cries of his fellow passengers echoed around him. Even Kirk looked as though he was beginning to doubt their chances. _If we'd just stayed in our own car, we'd still be hanging safely._ He dismissed the selfish thought as quickly as it came, the irony of wishing for his earlier discomfort not lost on him.

In moments, the straight drop was replaced by a gentler gliding. Air whooshed through the back of the car as the sails caught the wind, flapping like the wings of thousands of doves. They were still descending, but at a much slower pace. The crater lake only became larger as they approached it; McCoy could have picked out several striations in the rock he hadn't noticed before if he wasn't busy trying not to embarrass himself further.

After minutes of drifting in mid-air, the car landed on the surface of the water with a soft splash, dipping slightly below like a boat. Yellow foamy spray crashed through the broken window. McCoy let out a breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding. He leaned over and shook Kirk's shoulder. "We made it."

Kirk pushed himself up from the ground, shifting his feet on the wet floor to remain standing. The Seulans appeared to have heard him as well; their busy chatter filled the inside of the car.

"Everybody all right?" McCoy asked. The Seulans nodded and returned to their animated chatter. McCoy's eyes shifted to the old man. He looked a little shaky, but his breathing had evened out more. _Can't say as I blame him...at least we're not falling anymore._

McCoy lifted his prone body upwards and onto a chair, flopping backwards and letting his head loll against the seat back. He cast a sly look at Kirk as he slumped sideways into the nearby seat. "I thought we were _done_ with the thrill rides."

"So...so did I." Kirk slicked his hair back with one hand. "Hey...look." He nodded his chin towards the right side. McCoy followed his indication; a small motorized watercraft he hadn't seen from the sky was heading in their direction. "Rescue. Gotta love it." He frowned. "If we hurry, we still might make the _toverget_ match."

 _Are you still thinking about that?_ Leonard closed his eyes to still the pounding headache that was now beginning. "Listen, Jim," he muttered, rubbing his forehead, " _next_ time, let's just take the transporter."


	9. Incapacitated

_"_ _Chief Medical Officer's personal log: We received an update from the Medical Bureau on Thasile today. They report no new cases of Anguni fever since our departure, and all current patients improving rapidly. Who could imagine that something as simple as rosemary would provide the cure?_

 _Of particular interest to me was the invitation attached to the dispatch. There's to be a medical conference a month hence, and as most of our excursions these last few weeks have been...adventurous, listening to a good lecture seems like a pleasant change. I'm not sure whether to be miffed or relieved that for once, nobody expects_ me _to speak. Haven't broached the subject with Jim yet, but I think I can win him over, though I might have to call in a few favours..."_

Leonard McCoy opened and closed his right hand, trying to get the blood flow back. Three hours of reviewing records and updating charts and the appendage had gone cold and tingly. He reached for the ever-present coffee mug on his desk and took a sip, making a face as liquid trickled down his throat. _Ugh. A cup of hot Codanjo flower juice. Stupid replicator menu._ He didn't care for the sickly sweet nectar in the slightest. _I'd better test my blood sugar now._ Pushing the cup as far away from his hand as it could get without falling onto the floor, he stood up and stretched his arms upward.

As he did, a cold shiver ran down his spine. He wrapped his arms around his middle and strode towards a panel on the wall near his office door. A couple of quick taps and he brought up the temperature controls, frowning as he read the numbers on the screen. _Normal. Sure doesn't feel like it._ Turning up the settings a couple of degrees, he nodded once and stuck his head out the door. Sickbay was filled with the usual group of early afternooners; bumps, bruises, a few follow-up appointments, and some immunizations. Everything seemed fairly manageable. _No chaos. For once._

He retreated back into his office and pulled up his own schedule. A minor surgical procedure was the only thing on his calendar today, and that because it was time sensitive. He'd specifically cleared two days in a row to catch up on missed work; yesterday had been filled with physicals for crewmen from W-Z. All had passed, a fact he was proud of. Not that there was anybody to impress at the moment. _Why is it that when everybody's healthy, it's something right that_ they've _been doing, while the doctor gets blamed for every lapse?_

 _"_ _Bridge to medbay. Assistance is needed immediately."_ The calm, steady voice of Lt. Uhura came over the comm to his right.

Immediately, he switched his pickup on. "McCoy here. What's up?"

 _"_ _Not sure, doctor. Lt. Curtis suddenly lost consciousness at his station."_ He imagined her attention bouncing back and forth between the ill systems technician's prone form and her own station. Much like medbay, comm traffic fluctuated wildly between almost nonexistent and chaos. _"Spock's trying to revive him now."_

 _"_ _His color is not good, Doctor. I would suggest that you hurry."_ Despite the concern in his words, Spock delivered the statement quietly and with all the urgency of a fast food order. McCoy bit back a smart remark. _Probably trying not to worry the others._ For all the things he didn't fancy about Vulcans, he admired their ability to keep their cool when the situation called for it.

"Count on it, Commander. I'm already on my way," McCoy called towards the comm as he left his office. He slapped his forehead as a thought hit him. _Just switch to your handheld, idiot._ He did so, stopping by a biobed where Weapons Technician Delacourt lay with one sleeve rolled up to his elbow. A bright pink rash spiralled up his arm. McCoy turned to Nurse Wickert, who was bringing back a small container of pale blue salve. "Be sure to apply it sparingly until we know if it's effective. The synthesized stuff doesn't work _half_ as well. You'd _think_ it would...I'll have Summers and Arrul run a detailed analysis later."

The nurse nodded and began to apply a light coating of the salve on the enlisted crewman's forearm. McCoy grabbed a medkit from a nearby storage area and angled his head upward, catching the eye of a tall woman who was just exiting the break room with a blueberry muffin in one hand. "Mueller. Got a bridge call. You're with me."

"How bad is it?" she asked, pausing to toss the muffin cup in a wastebasket near the doorway.

"Unsure. No blood, that's about all I know." He hurried out the door towards the turbolift. As he did, he felt his steps becoming heavier. McCoy sucked in a breath and blew it out, grimacing as he realized what he'd said. He'd experienced something similar a few times, usually following some dismissive remark like that. Such comments often had a way of coming back to bite him in the backside. _There's no vaccine for 'foot-in-mouth disease'. Unfortunately._ "Loss of consciousness could be anything from swooning to stroke. As I'm sure you know." He pressed the button; with a swish, the turbolift door opened and both entered. "Bridge."

The ride was over in less than half a minute. It took McCoy only seconds to spot Lt. Curtis; the unconscious blond tech had been placed in the recovery position on the floor next to his station. Spock looked up from the cursory tricorder scan he was performing as McCoy and Mueller approached. "How is he?" McCoy muttered, ignoring the unguarded curiosity of other officers on the bridge. Kirk stood by the helm, discussing something with Sulu, but even he appeared distracted.

"His pulse and respiration are erratic. I suspect-" Spock's voice faded out as cold numbness radiated up McCoy's arms. He dropped the medkit to the floor with a clatter, grasping his arms with both hands. He felt nothing but coldness. _What do they make these sweaters out of, swiss cheese?_ He released his grip and let his arms hang slack at his sides, then tried to reach towards the kit. Nothing happened. He tried again, but for some reason, his muscles didn't respond to the commands he gave them. _Come on!_

As he shifted to the right, his legs gave way underneath him, succumbing to the same coldness. He fell flat on his back with a thump, unable to move. Nurse Mueller and Spock turned from their ministrations, surprised to see Leonard lying on the ground like an infant. _Not half as surprised as I am._ Even Kirk had given up feigning business as usual and was now climbing the steps towards his position.

"I told maintenance not to use so much wax on the floor..." Jim quipped, amusement giving way to concern as he saw McCoy straining to get up.

"Are you all right, Doctor?" Spock asked.

"I will be as soon...as somebody turns up the thermostat. Give me a hand." The cold had spread to his midsection by now. "I...seem to be...stuck..." He reached for Spock and Kirk's outstretched hands, or thought he did. "I can't move." _I can't move._ _Something's wrong..._ Spots danced before his vision, and he blinked them away. "Why can't I move?"

The last sound he heard before everything went black was his heart thudding in his ears.

Bright lights filled McCoy's vision. He blinked several times, trying to make them leave. _Where was I? Oh, yeah. Bridge. I feel like I'm going snow-blind. If it was up to me, the bridge'd be a nice soft muted gray. But nobody ever does...I'm a doctor, not an interior designer. Anyway..._ He tried to lift his hands in front of his face to shield his vision, but for some reason they wouldn't respond. "Somebody...dim the lights..." he rasped, lifting his head. As he did, he realized that the ambient sounds were not bridge instrumentation, but something more familiar. _Sickbay...how'd I get down here?_ He coughed once. "Get me a drink and...t-take these 'straints off me."

To the left of his bed, a nurse adjusted his blankets before reaching for a cup of water on the bedside table and holding it to his lips. "Dr. Hathaway will be in shortly to discuss that, Dr. McCoy. I'll get the lights before I leave."

 _Hathaway._ As McCoy drank from the clear straw, he pictured the stocky young man whose clipped British accent gave him the air of a proper gentleman. _What in the world do I need an infectious disease specialist for?_ The cold sensation he'd experienced earlier was still present. He glanced downward. A thick insulated blanket covered his body, which was now clad in a white hospital gown. While the garments weren't exactly modest, he shouldn't be _this_ chilly.

"How's Curtis? We were attending to him when it happened," he muttered, finishing the last of his drink. _Whatever_ it _is..._

"He'll be fine. A negative reaction to Perissin lilac root. We gave him epinephrine and he's resting now." She deposited his empty cup in a waste particulator and returned to his bedside, smiling cheerily. "Just one more thing."

The nurse asked him a number of questions to assess his cognitive abilities. He managed to answer all of them to her satisfaction, even as fear welled up inside his heart. _What's going on?_

Three minutes later, Hathaway appeared in his doorway, along with an older woman whose short auburn hair was parted on the right and secured with a simple brown clip. The muscles in McCoy's face tightened. _Jennings. Neurology. This day is getting better by the minute..._

Dr. Hathaway accepted a PADD from the retreating nurse whose name escaped McCoy at the moment. He and Jennings moved towards McCoy's bedside. "Hello, boss. Feeling better?"

"Feeling nothing except cold. And _scared_." McCoy watched as they took seats nearby. "ID and neuro...you can understand why I'm a little apprehensive."

The specialist nodded. "Absolutely."

"Then give me some answers, man," McCoy growled. "What's going on?"

Hathaway leaned back in his chair, pressing his mouth closed. "Analysis of your blood identified a virus that shared common bio-markers to some of the samples we took from the Thasile. After consulting with doctors from the medical bureau on subspace channels, they were able to identify it as _nado'yelu._ It's a common childhood disease for their people. Symptoms include numbness, muscle weakness and paralysis."

"But only for a week or so," Jennings continued. "After that, feeling and function return rapidly with little to no rehab needed."

"It's spread through humanoid contact. Most patients can only contract it once; after that, they develop permanent immunity." Hathaway scrolled downwards on the PADD until he came to the section he wanted. "The Thasile consider it a rite of passage in childhood; a test of courage, if you will."

"The thing is," Jennings added, leaning forward, "until now, there's been no known case of a non-Thasile patient contracting _nado'yelu_. Because of that, they want to monitor your condition more closely. We've discussed the situation with the captain, and he's agreed." She took the PADD from Hathaway and put it on a stand in front of Leonard. "Your transfer will be tomorrow morning, around 0700 hours. We'll coordinate your care with their doctors, but they're the experts. Our role will be mostly as consultants on Human physiology."

McCoy studied his file. It was a sound plan, one he would have recommended himself in a case like his. _Except..._ "Why can't their doctors come _here_?"

Hathaway gave him a wry smile, the kind more often shared between colleagues than doctor and patient. "You'd be something of a curiosity, I'm afraid. It would be far easier to move you than supervise and coordinate multiple visiting Thasile medical staff members." _Read; I'm a guinea pig._ "Less disruption of ship's business that way, too."

McCoy smiled back. "And goodness knows we could use a lot less of _that_."

After a 0615 awakening, followed by a sponge bath and a light breakfast, he was escorted down to the transporter room on a gurney. Shift change was far enough off that the halls weren't crowded with officers, but the few who were present took little notice of them. Leonard had the sudden urge to whistle, but stifled it as common sense prevailed. _What did you expect? A big send-off? You're going in for treatment, not off to war._

He'd held back from asking for shuttle transport, not wishing to inconvenience Kirk further. The captain had already had to postpone leaving this system due to McCoy's illness. _Better to get it done as quickly as possible._ He smiled as he remembered Jim's visit at the end of shift; he'd smuggled a bottle under his sweater into the doctor's medbay room. It contained a smooth, amber liquid that was decidedly _not_ water or apple juice. "Just for the record, it's not contagious, is it?" he'd asked, hesitating in the doorway.

"Do you see a quarantine sign anywhere?" McCoy had replied. "Just duck when I sneeze and you'll be good."

A few quick taps of the transporter officer's fingers, and he materialized in a small green room on a similar rolling cot. Two nurses had been waiting there, and they took over where the _Enterprise_ staff had left off, pushing him down a series of brightly lit hallways until they came to a sliding glass door. Inside the room, a bank of monitors ran along one wall, separated by a window, while a large mirror covered the other. _Probably a two-way._ A round concave dish hung from the ceiling above the bed, which was surrounded by semi-circular panels of glass.

The nurses lifted him from the gurney and placed him on the center of the bed, then began attaching transparent stickers to various areas on his skin. As they did, the computer displays near his bed lit up one by one. He couldn't help but smile at the irony; little less than a week ago, he'd been _working_ alongside these people to fight Anguni fever. _Now I'm a patient here._ _Get to see how the other half lives._

The next few hours was a flurry of scans and tests. Several Thasile medical staffers entered and left, discussing his results in quiet tones. It would have unnerved him if not for the fact that they seemed more fascinated by his human anatomy than concerned about his condition. _You'd think they'd never seen a kidney before_. _Probably haven't, for that matter._

Later that afternoon, Hathaway and Jennings came to see him, along with Doctor Behro, the Thasile specialist who was overseeing his care. His test results were encouraging; despite all anatomical differences and his "advanced age" compared to most _nado'yelu_ patients (who ranged between 7 and 15 in Human years), his prognosis was good. There was a slight risk of neural inflammation, however, so close monitoring was crucial.

They had only been gone five minutes when the visitors had started coming. Various medbay staff and bridge crew members trooped in and out, offering him their company and best wishes. Three plants, including a yellow flowering cactus from Spock and Nyota, graced his bedside. "It is native to New Vulcan," the first officer had explained as a nurse adjusted McCoy's meds. "You will not have to water it for two years."

"I'm not planning on being here _that_ long, Spock," McCoy yawned. "Thanks, though. Smells better than antiseptic."

An eyebrow rose. "That is hardly a unique feature, Doctor." He turned towards the door and dimmed the lights. "I shall leave you to rest now."

"I'd wave goodbye, but, well, you know. See ya." As Spock disappeared down the hallway, McCoy closed his eyes, yawning again. _Long day._ He settled his head against the pillow and let his mind drift off to blissful sleep. By now, he'd become used to the quiet sounds of the monitors in his room. The last thing that registered was a soft swish as the nurse exited his room

He woke only once in the middle of the night, disturbed by the sound of voices and running feet moving quickly past his room. _Prob'ly somebody coding or whatnot... and I can't do a thing 'bout it. Go back to sleep..._

He knew something was wrong by the way the medical aide looked over her shoulder as she entered with his breakfast. "Good morning, Doctor," she sang out a little too cheerily, placing his tray on a nearby table. "How are we this morning?"

 _The royal we as universal constant. Good grief._ "'We' would like to know why _you_ look as though you're afraid of your own shadow." He turned his head away from the spoonful of fruit sauce she held to his mouth. "Uh uh. Come on, Wirhela, what gives?" He followed her gaze to the food on the tray. All of the dishes were uncovered, and looked as though they'd been picked through. "Skipped your own breakfast this morning?"

Wirhela shook her head, closing her dark eyes. "The men at your door scanned it." She smiled weakly.

"The men at my-" He looked around her to the right. A flash of red uniform was barely visible on either side of his doorway. _Ship security? What for?_ He sighed. "Listen, could you do me a favour? After 'we' have 'our' breakfast, you tell one of the guards to pass a message on to my captain. I want to speak to him."

Wirhela nodded. "I will." She lifted the spoon again. "Go ahead. It's not as bad as it looks."

"Well, _that'll_ be a first," McCoy laughed, opening his mouth. To his surprise, the sauce was slightly spicy and sweet. He licked his lips. "Mmm. Not bad." She repeated the process until his meal was all gone, then fluffed his pillows before picking up the tray and leaving.

An hour later, he was interrupted from his perusal of a travel guide by the sound of low murmuring at his door. He looked up and saw Jim's serious expression as he spoke to the guards. _Clearly something's up beyond just providing nominal protection for the good doctor._

Kirk strode into the room, all traces of his earlier frown gone. "Hey, Bones. Am I intruding?"

"Yes, but by all means, don't let _that_ stop you. Heaven knows you never _have_." McCoy rolled his eyes.

Kirk flopped down into a bedside chair, leaning forward. "Seriously, though. Something's on your mind. Spill."

The doctor angled his head towards the door. "What's with the goon squad out there?"

"'Goon squad?'" Kirk lifted a finger to his lips. "Shhh, Bones, you'll hurt Hendorff's feelings."

"Somehow I think he'd prefer 'goon' to 'cupcake'." McCoy looked Kirk in the eye. "Level with me, Jim. And don't say it's a courtesy, either. Scanning my meals, intimidating the dietary aide?"

"Ouch. Guess I'll have to tell him to turn it down a notch." The captain folded his hands. "First of all, let me remind you that this is the foremost facility of its kind on Thasile. You're getting exceptional care here."

McCoy wasn't impressed. "Aaaaand?"

Kirk hesitated. "And, there have been a few... _incidents_ over the past few months, but nothing that should concern you. Your stay here's just precautiona-"

 _Oh, for crying out loud. Cut the preliminaries already._ "What _kind_ of incidents?"

"Unsanctioned euthanasia. But all five patients were terminal or suffering, which you're not." He rubbed his index finger and thumb together. "Still...I didn't want to take any chances. They haven't caught the culprit yet."

 _Mercy killing._ To McCoy's way of thinking, there was nothing merciful about it. _Taking_ someone's life, no matter what level of pain they were experiencing, was criminal. He remembered the oath Human doctors had taken since early days; ' _do no harm'_. To cruelly deprive those who still planned to live to the fullest of their last days the chance to make memories, say goodbye, and experience love...there were no words. He knew that if _he_ was diagnosed with some deadly disease, he'd want to spend time with the people he cared about. "And you were going to tell the helpless invalid about this _when_?"

Kirk shook his head. "We weren't informed until last night. There was another death, on this floor; somebody injected a lethal dose of sedatives into the patient's intravenous port."

 _The code. So that's what I saw last night._ "Lovely." He coughed a couple of times, and Kirk brought him a glass of water, tipping it at his mouth. McCoy swallowed a mouthful of liquid slowly. "Thank you. Do they know _anything_ at all?"

"The sedative was over the counter, so that's no help. It'd be like trying to find all the people who bought aspirin." Kirk set the glass down and leaned forward, his nose barely above the semi-circular glass frame. "Look, Bones, if it were up to me, I'd move you back to the _Enterprise_ in a heartbeat. But these guys know more about what you have than we do."

"I understand, Jim." _It isn't bad enough that I'm paralysed below the neck; now I have a killer to worry about._ "Am I to assume we've offered our assistance?"

"Offered and been refused. They said it was an 'internal matter'; however, they did agree to the security detail, as you know." Kirk's eyes flashed with frustration. _You're not the only one..._ "It'd be pretty hard to interfere at this point without their knowledge."

Even as he spoke the words, McCoy's mind was spinning with a mixture of righteous indignation and possibilities. _I took two oath. One as a doctor and one as a Starfleet officer, but they both amount to the same thing; to save lives wherever possible. Nobody's going to die needlessly. Not on_ my _watch._

 _Even if I have to give my own life._

He turned to Kirk. "Jim, listen. I've got an idea. But I'm going to need a little help from some of the crew..."

"The swelling's increasing rapidly. I don't think he'll make it through the night." Dr. Hathaway's voice was properly solemn as he delivered the news. Jennings and Behro concurred while a grim-faced Kirk let out a deep, grief-filled sigh.

McCoy allowed the barest of smiles to cross his lips as he lay immobile, 'dying'. After a quick crash course in Thasile medical technology, Chekov and Scotty had modified his monitors to give off the readings of a man in the last stages of life. Only a select circle of attendants were privy to his true status. The plan was to let it be common knowledge throughout the facility that their lone Human patient was terminally ill, in the hopes that the killer would target him. When he or she made the attempt, security officers stationed nearby would catch them in the act. He dearly hoped for _his_ sake that they had above-average reflexes.

As the doctors left the doorway, Kirk stomped on the floor angrily. _Easy there, Jim. Don't overdo it._ He turned to Spock and Uhura with tears glistening in his eyes. The usually stoic Vulcan mustered a grief-stricken look, while Uhura looked sadly over his shoulder at McCoy's prone form. _It's like watching my own funeral. You_ did _tell them it's all a ploy, didn't you, Jim?_ Leonard sighed. _The sooner this is over, the better._

Scotty stood by his bedside, giving one final approving glance at his and Pavel's work. He put his hands on his hips, shaking his head. "I got to tell ye, Doctor, you've got a lot of guts to do this." He patted McCoy on one numb shoulder. "Try to rest easy."

"Easier said than done," McCoy mouthed.

Scott exited the room with appropriate gravity, and McCoy closed his eyes. _On second thought, I'd better keep one_ open _tonight._ Two quiet taps came from underneath the bed, where Hendorff and Strand were hiding. McCoy answered with a soft groan, their agreed upon signal. _This had better work tonight, or I'll be dying until I'm cured._

McCoy awoke four hours later to the feeling that something about his room was different. He couldn't put his finger on it – _or anything, for that matter,_ he thought ruefully – but there was definitely something off.

McCoy's gaze tracked around the room. The monitors still sounded his supposedly imminent death knell. Some numbers were artificially elevated, others circled the drain. Three chairs remained pushed into a corner where Scotty had moved them so he could have more room to work. He shifted his attention to the mirror, which reflected the same view of the monitor wall back to him as always, punctuated by the window. He'd asked the nurse to leave the curtains open, as one of the few things he enjoyed was the lovely view of their capital by the water from his private room.

Except now the curtains were _closed_.

 _Odd. Maybe someone else came in and decided a cityscape wasn't a suitable deathbed view. Darn it, it's_ my _deathbed..._ He stilled as he realized that security had been given orders not to allow _anyone_ besides those in the know inside. _So how-_

A quiet creak echoed in the silence of the room. _Thanks heavens for Scotty and Chekov. If that machine was registering my_ real _heart rate right now..._ He _felt_ a presence towering over him, but oddly, saw nothing. McCoy's pulse hammered into overdrive. His mind raced. _Hendorff, Strand, so help me, if you're asleep down there...this was a really,_ really _stupid idea._

He tried to make a sound, but nothing came out. The figure appeared slowly by his bedside. _Like a chameleon._ He realized with shock that he recognized the man. It was a Thasile orderly he'd seen several times while treating fever victims. Two of which who'd died inexplicably after initially showing signs of recovery. He had chalked it up to 'just one of those things', having not done the autopsies himself. Now he wished he had. _So help me, if you killed my patients...if I could move,_ you'd _need a coroner when I was done with you!_

A warm tingling sensation began in the back of his neck. _Huh? What's going on?_ It quickly spread down his spine and through his entire body, replacing the cold numbness of before. For the first time in two days, he could _feel._

The orderly whispered something in the Thasile language, then turned his attention to McCoy's intravenous line. Removing a small half-empty vial of clear liquid, he filled a syringe with it. _The sedative...I'll bet that's what happened to my guards. They wouldn't even see it coming._..

The man opened the port on McCoy's intravenous line and raised his arm to dispense the drug. Before he could, McCoy's hand shot out and grabbed his wrist. "Oh, no you don't!" he barked hoarsely. The orderly's eyes widened with surprise as he twisted his arm out from McCoy's grip and fumbled with his instruments, now more concerned with silencing the doctor than being an angel of mercy.

McCoy ripped out the line and bolted up in bed, hardly able to believe his own actions as he slapped the syringe out of the orderly's hand, sending it skittering across the floor. He crawled to the end of the bed as his would-be killer threw open the curtains. "I wouldn't do that if I were you. It's a forty foot drop." The man ignored him, pushing up on the window and throwing one leg over the side. "I warned you." McCoy ran towards him and grabbed his arm, yanking him backwards. They struggled for a few seconds before Leonard got off a good uppercut, sending him reeling against the wall with a grunt. He staggered for a moment, then charged at him. Leonard's hand flailed in the air, touching a prickly object. _Ow!_ _Spock's cactus..._ He grabbed the pot and threw it at the man's head, hitting his arm instead. His attacker cried out with pain and clutched one arm where the prickers had gotten him – _good -_ while McCoy seized the opportunity to retrieve the syringe. As he bent over, however, the man recovered and tackled him to the ground, rolling and pinning the doctor's arms down with his knees as he grabbed his instrument. Raising it over McCoy's chest, he prepared to inject its contents. McCoy winced, turning his head to the side.

A flash of light burst through the doorway, hitting his attacker square in the torso. The orderly stiffened and collapsed on McCoy's chest, eliciting a grunt from the doctor. McCoy's nerves tingled from the stun shot. He turned his head sideways just enough to see Kirk entering the room, phaser drawn, eyes scanning the room.

"Bones?" Kirk dropped to his knees and rolled the unconscious orderly off of McCoy. "Are you all right?"

"I've been better." Kirk offered McCoy a hand, and they both stood together. Leonard's legs wobbled a little as Kirk helped him towards a chair. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"Call it a hunch," Kirk replied, pointing a thumb at the mirror. "Actually, the truth is, I left my PADD in the observation room and went back to get it."

 _I was right; it_ is _two-way._ McCoy raised an eyebrow. "Do you always bring your phaser along when you retrieve lost objects?"

Kirk smiled sheepishly. "I think it's a good thing I did, don't you?"

McCoy rubbed his forehead with one hand. "You won't hear any arguments from me. Oh, and newsflash; I think I'm cured."

"No kidding."

He shook his head. "Darndest thing. One minute I'm flat on my back, unable to move, and the next, I'm brawling with Death."

"I saw. You were _awesome_. Why don't you pull out those moves more often?" Kirk crossed his arms. "I didn't even see the guy come _in_. How did he just appear out of nowhere?"

Something sparked in his memory, a bit of medical trivia he'd come across while getting up to speed on Thasile physiology. "It's a very rare genetic mutation. Some Thasile have the ability to change color to blend in with their environment. It occurs in about 1 in every 950,000 births."

"Yikes. No wonder he got past security."

 _Security._ McCoy slid down onto the floor and reached under the bed. "He drugged the guards, too. Help me out." Kirk dropped to his knees and helped McCoy pull the unconscious guards out from underneath.

As McCoy pressed his fingers to Strand's neck, Kirk stood up and reached for the intercom switch on the wall. "Assistance required in room 413."

In moments, security staff arrived and removed the attacker, followed by McCoy's doctors, and some nursing staff, who whisked the guards to the emergency department. After a very sleepy Scotty reversed his and Chekov's alterations, the specialists ran a full battery of tests on McCoy, but it was mostly a formality. It was agreed by all _four_ doctors that the adrenaline rush he'd experienced prior to the attack had likely reversed his condition rapidly. The discovery was a potential breakthrough. _Yet again, something so common that we take it for granted saves the day._

"So are you telling me," Kirk asked, an impish look on his face, "I could have just taken you skydiving in the holodeck instead?"

McCoy sat up taller in his bed, relaxing against a pillow. He had been moved to a smaller, more private room for observation; all indications were that he'd be going home tomorrow. _The_ Enterprise _? Home?_ " _Or_ a hypo of adrenaline. The goal would be to _cure_ me, not stop my heart." He eyed Kirk with a look of mock scorn. "Whose side are you _on_ , anyway?"

"Yours, of course." Kirk plucked an apple from a basket on McCoy's bedside and shined it on his sweater before taking a big bite. _What is it with you and apples, anyway?_ "By the way," Kirk mumbled, chewing with his mouth open - _ew -_ "your 'goons' are going to be fine. A little woozy, but fine. He didn't give them much."

"Pass me one of those bananas, will you?" McCoy took the yellow fruit from Kirk's hand and peeled it, still unable to believe that he had the dexterity to do so again. "Even so, I want to follow up with them when I get back to work tomorrow."

Kirk scoffed. "Tomorrow? Not a chance." He took another bite, pointing the apple at McCoy. "You've got the next few days off. Captain's orders."

McCoy cocked his head to the side in disbelief. "Jim, I've been doing nothing _but_ lying around," he complained, setting his banana down on the blanket, "and now you want me to pace around in circles in my quarters like a caged animal?"

"I never said that," Kirk replied. "You could work out in the gym, maybe shoot a few hoops..." A grin spread across his face. "Or go skydiving."

McCoy winced. "On second thought, I miss my _own_ bed."

"You're no fun," Kirk pouted.

"And you're nothing _but_ fun."

"Yeah, and which one of us gets all the female attention?"

"Drop dead, Jim."


	10. Jailbreak

"Nobody will tell me anything, Captain. I thought perhaps you might have better luck."

Leonard didn't miss the slight hitch in the Ranyar diplomat's voice as he spoke, nor the way he perched at the edge of his chair. _Guy's antsier than...well, an anthill. Guess I would be, too, if it was_ my _kid out there._

Kirk shared a knowing look with Spock. The silence on the bridge seemed thick. The captain returned his gaze to the view screen. "Ambassador," he began in a measured tone, "we, too, represent our people to everyone we meet, and as such we have an obligation to attempt the maintenance of peaceful relations with whomever we encounter out here. What you're asking-"

Ambassador Asplinn stroked his temple with a long, bony finger. "I _realize_ that. I am prepared to offer compensation to your people – unofficially, of course – for the successful completion of your mission."

The captain's brows scrunched together. "You misunderstood me, sir. We're not holding out for payment. The safety of my people comes first, and before I send them out chasing after your son, I need to know what we're getting ourselves into." He leaned forward and steepled his fingers together. "Now is there anything you _can_ tell me about the Teradul?"

Asplinn sighed. "As I said before, I know little. We have no diplomatic relations with them whatsoever. An attempt was made, years ago, but they declined all formal overtures. Their planet has no central government, only municipal ones; they seem to be more interested in trade than anything else." He frowned. "Yinn's message was very brief and staticky. All he said was that he was in serious trouble with the local authorities and I needed to come get him. Then there was some...shouting, a c-crash, and the communication cut out."

 _Usually not a good sign._ McCoy rubbed his chin thoughtfully. _Wonder what the fool kid did, anyway?_ He looked down at Jim again. An odd look passed over his eyes and disappeared quickly. _Yup._ _He's going to go for it._ Spock's expression was unreadable, as usual, but he regarded the viewscreen. Yet McCoy sensed that he was thinking of something else.

"Are you a father, Captain?" the Ranyaran asked.

"Uh, no." McCoy read the unspoken rest of that sentence in Jim's eyes. _"At least, I don't think so."_

"He's a good boy, really, he is. He's just... _impulsive_ , adventurous. But I fear his ambitions may have outstripped his ability to handle himself this time."

 _Jim. Our mission is to retrieve a teenage runaway_ Jim _. Peachy._

Kirk nodded. "I know. Youthful exuberance has a way of... blinding you to reality. You think that you're invincible. Until something happens to prove you wrong."

"Yes. Yes, that's it exactly," Asplinn agreed. "So you'll help then?"

Kirk hesitated. "All right. I'll send a team over there to sniff around, see what's what." He stood up, spreading his hands apart. "No promises."

Asplinn relaxed; he looked at least ten years younger, the weight of his burden lifted somewhat. "Thank you, Captain. One more thing; can I count on your discretion in this matter? My government knows nothing of the... _incident_ , and I would prefer to keep it that way."

"I think we can do that." Kirk nodded to Sulu, who tapped the console, already changing the course wordlessly.

McCoy raised both eyebrows as Lt. Uhura ended the transmission. "Do unto others, Jim? I can think of a few things _you'd_ like to keep a secret. I bet if it weren't for the hobgoblin here, your captain's log'd read like a propaganda paper."

Kirk frowned. "Well, that's an improvement over _last_ week, when you called it a tabloid." He slung an arm over McCoy's shoulder. "And besides, it's not like _you've_ never done anything you'd want to redact. We all have a few skeletons in our closets. Even Spock here," Kirk added, throwing his other arm over a startled Spock's shoulder, a grin splitting his face. "I seem to recall, ahem, a certain T'Vadii?"

Spock blinked. "Captain, I told you that in the strictest confidence," he muttered hoarsely.

"You don't say?" McCoy shifted so that he was facing the Vulcan. Unless he was mistaken, Spock's cheeks were flushed brighter green than usual. "Who's T'Vadii?"

"Just an old girlfriend of Spock's, that's all," Kirk blurted. "Until she dumped him."

"Jim, your explanation is far too simplistic," Spock almost _plead_ , turning to McCoy. "I was a child of five. T'Vadii lived near our home on Vulcan. She was six years my elder. My mother sent me over to her family's house to deliver a _shan-tyra_ rosebush she wished to give them. T'Vadii answered the door and took the plant from me. I noticed that her hair was the same color as the roses, and I told her so. She nodded and replied, 'Perhaps it is. Why did you mention it?', and I said I did not know. She told me it was illogical to make a statement that served no purpose and shut the door. I have not seen her since her family moved away a week later."

Spock looked up as Uhura appeared behind him. She smiled sadly. "You never told _me_ that story."

"I had no reason to. It signified nothing." _Taking her advice then, Spock?_ "The only reason I told the captain was because he got a _shan-tyra_ thorn in his thumb three months ago in the botany lab. I assured him it was not poisonous."

"I remember that," McCoy poked Kirk in the side. "Squealed like a stuck pig." He flinched as Kirk poked him back. "Matter of fact, there's a – hey- pair of tweezers-oh- down in sickbay-ow- with Jim's name on them- _ow_! Stop that!"

Kirk shrugged and crossed his arms. McCoy followed his gaze towards the turbolift. Uhura was standing there with Spock, their heads bent close together as she put her hand on his arm. "Look at that, would you? Luckiest guy in the whole universe."

"Mmm. How do you figure?"

"He just told his girlfriend about _another_ girl, and _she_ thinks it's darling." Kirk shook his head and stuffed his hands into his pockets. "I wish _I_ could get away with that sometime." He strode towards the helm, McCoy's eyes on his back, and once again became the mature captain as he discussed approaches and flight plans for Teradul with Sulu. Leonard scratched his head. _How does he do that so fast?_

"'An' she said to me, wha' hae ye done with me, I'll be nae more going o'er the green-hic!'" Scott slammed the chunky bottle onto the tabletop, sending a slosh of purple alcohol into McCoy's clear glass.

 _Ugh_ , McCoy thought, pushing away his drink with disgust. "If I were your bartender, I'd have cut you off three bottles ago." This was the third establishment they'd visited in as many hours, and judging by what he'd seen the man down, he suspected the engineer would be _floating_ back to the _Enterprise_ at the end of this mission. "Is that even a real song, or did you just make it up?" He reached for the offending container.

Scott was too fast for him, bringing the bottle to his lips once more. "It _is_ , and ye're _not_ ," he mumbled, reversing the order of the questions. As he leaned over the table towards McCoy, his glassy-eyed stare cleared up. "I know what I'm doin', Doctor. If ye had half a brain, ye'd try tae blend in like I'm a doin'." He nodded at McCoy's discarded glass. "Dinna let a little drop of me stuff stop ye from enjoying yours."

McCoy huffed. "If it weren't for the fact that alcohol kills most known pathogens, I'd say no. Here goes nothing," he muttered as he reached for his drink. To his relief, it tasted no different. "Not bad." He licked his lips, flinching as a tiny frisson travelled down his spine. "Hey, is it just me or are we being watched?"

Scott had drained his bottle and was now busy tearing strips from his paper napkin and sticking them to its rim. "Watched? I think Jim has a lot more on his mind besides crew evaluations right now." He tipped his head towards a table in the corner of the room. The captain was pretending to have a rowdy argument in Andorian with Spock and his usual cadre of burly security officers, cleverly disguised as ruffians, ne'er-do-wells, and slimeballs. In reality, however, he was examining drone surveillance scans on Quijand City Prison and discussing ingress and egress points with his strike team. McCoy had to hand it to Jim; the kid was a master at blending in. _Maybe a little_ too _good,_ he thought as the captain reached over the table and grabbed Hendorff by the collar, his face coloring. "I don't mean by him. These guys..." He tensed up as a slender woman brushed by him, her intense gaze lingering on his face for a moment before moving towards the doorway. "These Teradul...you get the feeling that they _know_ something about you."

Scott chuckled, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his loud shirt. "I wouldna mind a bit of _that_ kind of attention." He wadded up the last of his napkin and tossed it into the bottle like a basketball. "Dinna worry yerself about it."

"'Dinna worry meself about it.'" McCoy leaned his chin on one hand, feeling the greasy fabric of his jacket beneath his elbow. "They're planning a prison infiltration and I'm supposed to sit back-"- he did so, resting his head on his folded hands – "-relax, and enjoy the music. If you can call that _noise_ music." Even as he spoke, his ears thrummed with the vibrations of a large, discordant stringed instrument. "A cello it ain't." He tipped the chair back on its back legs.

A sharp crack echoed across the room, and both heads whipped around to see Kirk crumpling to the ground. _And so it begins. Jim!_ McCoy's muscles tensed up, preparing to head over there, but the pressure of Scott's grip on his arm stopped him. He couldn't see the captain anymore, but across the table from his last location, Lieutenant junior grade Grossman was kissing her knuckles before planting her hands on her hips. McCoy peered through the crowd, trying to find Jim. A hand came up over the side of the table and gripped it, as Kirk pulled himself stiffly to his feet. _I can see his eye blackening from here._ Without warning, he leapt towards her and they became locked in physical combat. _So that's his plan...get arrested, find a way in. Logical._ He watched as the other officers became involved in the brawl, too; a fist here, a foot there. Even Spock tried to pull the captain off Grossman before Kirk snapped his head back into the Vulcan's face. He recognized some of the moves from combat training; others lacked the fluid efficiency of movement they had been instructed in at the Academy. _I guess he didn't forget_ everything _he learned on the mean streets..._

He looked back at Scotty as the engineer pumped a fist in the air and whooped. "I thought we weren't supposed to join'em; just observe and report."

"Jus' tryin' tae blend in, as I said," Scotty mumbled, getting up and standing on his chair to see over the crowd. A crowd of Teradul and other alien visitors surrounded the fight, making similar noises of approval. "Come on, Doctor. Pick a side already if'n ye dinna want to attract attention."

"Fine." McCoy cupped his hands to his mouth. "C'mon, Rebekah! Knock his scurvy teeth down his throat!" At Scotty's sideways glance, he shrugged. "What? I'm a Southern gentleman. We always defend our women."

Scotty raised both arms in the air. "Give it tae the harpy, laddie!" He lowered his voice. "Somebody's gotta root fer Jim. I'll apologize tae the lass later." He looked towards the entrance. "Uh oh. We've got company. Ecurity-say at the oor-day."

McCoy pulled in his chair to allow the patrolmen by. _Guys've got more muscles than a football team. You wanted trouble, Jim? You got it._ To his surprise, they did _not_ pass, giving the battle across the room only a brief glance. Instead, they surrounded _his_ table. McCoy stiffened as he felt the butt of a rifle dig into his back.

"Gav Norsan, Quijand Patrol. You are being detained. Stand up," the officer growled. A similar weapon was aimed at the back of Scotty's head as he stepped down from the chair. "It is no use trying to run. There are guards at all the exits."

 _Run? Me? Now whatever gave you_ that _idea?_ McCoy stood, turning slowly to face his captor. "Will you tell me what in the world _we're_ being charged with?" He waved his arm towards the fight. "What about those guys?"

The officer sniffed. "What about them?" He pulled out a small device with a screen and pressed a few buttons. An image appeared, and he held the device up at eye level as another officer shoved Scotty towards him. "Do you recognize this?" Another button, another image. "Or these?" he spat.

Each image showed examples of Teradul dinnerware; a small forklike utensil with two prongs, a thick fluted cup with three rings on the side, a round dish with scalloped edges. He recognized them from the first bar, which had also served food, including a particularly sweet melon pudding dish. "Happens I do. What of it? Search me, if you want; I didn't swipe any."

"Nor I," Scott piped up. "If'n I wanted tae _steal_ something, it'd be worth more than _that_. Like an officer's badge, mayhaps. Here ye go," he chuckled, tossing a small metal object to the man, who caught it with one hand, frowning at Scotty.

Norsan leaned forward until McCoy could smell his breath. _Like a musty attic room._ "I am not accusing you of thievery." He clasped his hands behind his back and paced back and forth. "Do you recall using the fork, and how?"

"Sure," McCoy nodded. "We ate a meat roll with it."

"How?"

"We picked up chunks and put them in our mouth." _How do you think, genius?_ , he was tempted to add, but he didn't want to push the man's buttons.

"But first, you cut it with the _side_ of the fork. There was a blade. Why didn't you use it?" Norsan pressed a thick finger into McCoy's collarbone, probing until Leonard began to choke.

"What difference does that make?" he sputtered.

"And you," Norsan continued, turning his glare on Scotty, who shrunk back, his earlier bravado diminishing. "The cup is to be drunk from the largest ring side, _not_ the bare one. And _okal_ is _never_ to be eaten with one's hands," he snarled, grabbing Scott's collar with both hands until the man's feet lifted off the floor. "You have dishonoured our statutes and Gamo'an's name."

"Ga-who-an?" Scotty squeaked. Norsan let him go, and he dropped to the floor, taking several deep breaths.

The officer waved a hand towards the bar. A large statue of a woman with a sword in one hand and Teradul currency in the other stood in a prominent place against the wall. McCoy realized they'd seen similar images in the other bars they'd patronized, but this one was larger and more intricate than the others. _So we've offended their warrior goddess then._ "Gamo'an is shamed by your flagrant abuse of her utensils." _What?! Are you serious?!_ _We're getting arrested by the_ _ **etiquette**_ _police?_ He grabbed McCoy's arm in a vice grip and brought him closer until they were nose to nose. "It is the highest violation. One worthy of _severe_ measures." The gleam in his eye made it clear that he would enjoy carrying such measures out. "You shall be executed in due course. _Both_ of you. But until then..." he trailed off, bringing his knee up into McCoy's abdomen hard, causing him to double over in pain, "I will see to it that you long for that occasion." He turned to his men. "Take them to the prison. I will join you shortly." They saluted and restrained McCoy and Scott, dragging them away.

McCoy glanced back, Kirk's name on the tip of his tongue. The fight was still going strong, and by the looks of things, several Teradul had joined the fray. He pressed his mouth closed. _No good getting_ all _of us locked up. I just hope he realizes we're missing or we're doomed._ Movement in front of the bar caught his eye; Norsan dropped to the ground and lay prostrate on the floor before the Gamo'an idol, chanting softly. Several Teradul joined him. McCoy sighed, wincing as he was shoved out the door.

"You know what's _really_ ironic? If I'd _stabbed_ one of them with that stupid fork, they probably wouldn't even _care_. But use it to eat strawberries instead of carrots? Capital offence." McCoy threw his hands up in the air, wincing as his ribs burned from the beating they'd taken. He hadn't inventoried their injuries yet; the Teradul authorities had made good on their threats, working over both men for an hour before ushering them into a common dungeon area filled with miserable looking sorts. Although they had not been chained or restrained, there was no way to escape the large holding cell. Thick brick walls reached nearly a hundred feet up to small windows with metal bars on them. _No handholds, of course. No rope ladder...no stairs..._

He cocked his head to one side. "Hey. What do you get when you combine Klingons, Ferengis, and Emily Post? These guys."

"Keep it down, would ye? I've got a splitting headache," Scotty groaned, holding his head. A deep gash ran down the left side.

"Just trying to lighten the mood," McCoy apologized, instinctively reaching down at his side and finding nothing. _My kingdom for my medkit._ He watched as Scotty pulled a small packet from his pocket and unwrapped it, popping the gum inside into his mouth and chewing. "Where'd you get that?" McCoy asked.

"Second bar. They're complimentary," Scott muttered. "I'm trying tae remind meself that I've still got _teeth_ left."

McCoy idly ran his tongue along his gums, doing a head count. _All there...makes sense. Most of the blows they inflicted on us were torso hits._ He sat up straighter on the floor, feeling the dampness of the tiles underneath his body. _Pneumonia city._ "What time is it, anyway? Jim should be here by now." _And I shouldn't_ , he finished silently.

Scott paused mid-chew. "Now how in blazes should I know _that_? And by the way, I'm not exactly loving Teradul hospitality right now, either. What I wouldna give for a nice, hot shower and me own bed. Why'd ye have ta cut yer food with a fork, anyway?"

" _Me?_ " McCoy jabbed his chest with one thumb, then pointed his index finger at the chief engineer. "If _you_ hadn't stuffed your ham hands into a plate of food, then maybe they would've overlooked my _minor_ oversight."

"Ham hands?" Scott spat, arms crossed over his chest. " _I'm_ not the one who dinna know what a _knife_ is fer..." His voice trailed off and he closed his eyes, sighing. "I'm sorry, Doctor. This isna getting us anyplace." He made a fist and smacked it into the open palm of his other hand. "Captain's gonna be mad at us. Now he's got to rescue _three_ people instead of just one." He looked around the room, straining to see in the half-light. "Where do ye suppose that young scamp is, anyway?"

McCoy picked at a hangnail. "Probably cowering in a corner somewhere." His head began to itch, and he scratched it. _Please don't be lice._ "You know, I have half a mind to tell Jim to just _leave_ Yinn here. It's really _his_ fault we're stuck in this deathtrap."

"Come now," Scott pleaded, "ye cannae blame _him_ , either." He stood to his feet slowly, placing one hand in the small of his back. "Poor lad probably just sneezed on one of those idols or summat."

"Close enough. I snagged the Sacred Cloth." Both men looked over to see a youthful version of Ambassador Asplinn hunched in the corner. Hardly more than a boy, his stubbled face was a mass of bruises. Blood crusted his nostrils and lips, and he held one arm close to his chest. _Probably dislocated...and more trauma under that jumpsuit besides._ In an instant, all animosity he'd previously directed towards Yinn was now squarely directed towards his Teradul abusers. _What's wrong with these people, anyway?_

"Sacred what?" Scott frowned.

"A table covering for Gamo'an's altar. S-somebody tripped me and I snagged it." Yinn straightened up, trying to appear more brave than he was, but fear still flickered in his eyes. "The sentence is death."

 _A tablecloth. They're going to kill him for shredding their holy linens._ McCoy covered his mouth with a hand, trying to hide a snicker. It was all so _stupid_. He looked over the boy's head at Scott, who was pressing his lips together in a valiant attempt to keep from laughing.

"What?" Yinn asked, looking from one man to the other. "We're _all_ going to die. Is that funny?"

McCoy reached up to wipe a tear from his eye. "N-no, of course not. It's just, I thought if I was ever sentenced to death, it'd be for something more serious than misusing a _fork_."

"Aye. Or not holding yer _teacup_ the right way," Scott added, lifting an imaginary cup to his lips and waggling his pinky.

The corners of Yinn's mouth turned up. "Or perhaps putting a hole in a textile?"

"Exactly," McCoy snorted, setting Scott off, and finally Yinn. They shared a good laugh for the next minute until Scott began to choke on his gum, spurring McCoy into a frenzy of back-patting until he coughed up the offending wad onto the floor. All three retreated into the corner of the room, trying to catch their breath.

McCoy leaned one arm against the wall, wiping his forehead with the other. "Phew. I think we needed that. Laughter's a good tonic, or so they say." He placed one hand on the boy's uninjured shoulder. "Listen, about that execution; it's not gonna happen. We're Starfleet officers. Your father sent us to get you out of here."

"He did?" Yinn frowned. "But how are you going to do that? You're imprisoned, too."

"No, not us. We've got friends on the outside. We were supposed to be the lookouts, but my captain and the others got caught up in a fight. Probably figured it was the best way in. Boy, were _they_ ever wrong."

"Take it from me, lad," Scott added, coming around on Yinn's opposite side. "Ye couldna wish for a better rescue team than our people. Have ye oot in two shakes of a lamb's tail. When they get here, that is," he continued, staring up at the window as if he expected Kirk to appear that very second.

"Eh, Jim's probably nursing a nosebleed or something," Leonard chuckled. His laughter trailed off as Yinn clutched at his arm, gritting his teeth. _Enough yapping, Leonard. You've got a patient to treat._ "Hey, hey, hey, easy does it. Let me see that; I'm a doctor." He gently examined the boy's shoulder, probing with well-trained hands. _Definitely dislocated. Yep, I still got it. You can take away my medical tricorder, but you can't remove years of med school and field experience._ "This is going to hurt like blazes for a second, and then it'll be a whole lot better. Ready?"

Yinn nodded. A quick adjustment and the end of the bone snapped into its socket. To his credit, Yinn didn't cry out, but it was clear by the way tears sprang to his eyes that it _had_ hurt.

"You okay?"

"Better." A shaky breath.

"See, now, what'd I tell you? As soon as we get back to our ship, I'll see about those other injuries." He turned around, looking for Scott, but the man had disappeared. _Now where did_ he _get to?_ Leonard's eyes roved over a mass of dejected humanoidanity. _If I had my way, every last one of these poor souls would see my sickbay._ Unwrapping the dirt brown scarf from around his neck, he looped it over Yinn's shoulders and settled his sore arm into the makeshift sling. He spotted the chief engineer near the adjacent wall, pressing his ear to it and rapping softly with a closed fist. "Scotty?" he called even as the engineer made his way back to them, hands on his hips, head shaking side to side.

"It's nae good. Solid rock, at least 4 feet thick. Now ye might say, what aboot the window? Well," he muttered, stooping to retrieve a pebble from the floor, "even _if_ ye could make it up that high, _and_ even if ye happened to remove those bars..." He stepped back and drew back his hand, pitching the pebble at the high window. It sailed right between the bars, only to bounce off a shimmering force field and onto the floor again, rolling to a stop at their feet. "Ye wouldna get verra far."

 _Now would be a good time for you to pull one of those famous Scott miracles out of your hat, Scotty._ "I suppose we could dig our way out with our bare hands." McCoy sighed, slumping onto the floor. "Wonder how long _that'd_ take."

 _BANG!_

All three men jumped at the loud sound, dropping to the ground as smoke filled the air; dust and pebbles flew into the air and rained down again. _A shot. Where did it come from? Jim?_ Heart thudding, McCoy looked between his fingers, trying to find the source of the noise. To his surprise, nobody else seemed that interested. He paused for a moment, listening for further shots. Hearing nothing, he relaxed. "All clear," he coughed, waving his arms around to disperse the smoke. A small scorch mark on the floor caught his attention. Squatting down, he touched the hot object.

"Ah!" he gasped, shaking his fingers to cool them. He brought the burnt digits to his lips, frowning. _I've smelled that before...what is it?_ He walked back over to Scott and stuck his finger under the engineer's nose. "Smell that and tell me what it is. And don't say 'a human finger', either."

"' Smell that and tell me what it is.'" Scott grimaced. "The words _every_ Starfleet officer wants to hear." He scratched his head. "I've lost a few friends that way over the years."

"Just do it, Scotty."

"All right..." Scott leaned forward and sniffed. "Hmm. Oh, that; smells like me chewing gum, that does. Now, I've heard of blowing _bubbles_ , but I guess I'm lucky it dinna blow me head off." He shuddered.

 _Just when I thought I'd heard it all...C4 chewing gum, no less._

Yinn rubbed the back of his neck where McCoy's scarf was knotted. "It's because you spat it out." He cleared his throat and swallowed. "I learned that the hard way," he smiled. "There's a chemical in it that, combined with spit and air, creates a slow-acting reaction. It's supposed to be a prank. Pretty dumb, huh?"

A thought began to tickle at the back of the doctor's mind. McCoy arched both eyebrows. "Actually, it's pretty clever."

"Pretty _deadly,_ if ye ask me," Scott corrected. "I'm surprised at you, Doctor. Usually, you'd be shouting bloody murder about juvenile behaviour."

 _Guilty as charged. But not this time._ "I was thinking that this just might be our ticket outta here. Capisce?"

"Ahh..." Scott smiled. "I think I ken what ye're onto, Doctor."

"You got any more in your pockets?" Yinn's left hand strayed towards his cloak hem. _Probably filched it and then forgot all about it afterwards._ "C'mon, give it over." Scott was busy turning out his own pockets; an assortment of multicoloured packets of various kinds littered the ground around his feet. "Mr. Scott, you're a regular packrat. If that's what your _pockets_ look like, I'd hate to see your quarters." _Downright unsanitary. Says the man who just touched another man's chewing gum._ McCoy dropped to a knee and began sorting the pile, discarding everything but the unopened gum. Yinn tossed a couple of handfuls onto the stash.

Before long, they had amassed a substantial amount. Splitting the pile up into three, they began unwrapping and chewing the gum. Scott "lethargically" paced up and down the wall, stopping every so often to inconspicuously rap sections of brick. McCoy had managed to find a couple of dice in Scotty's loot pile, and he and Yinn sat cross-legged by the high window playing for pebbles. The whole time, all three surreptitiously observed the crowd, but nobody seemed the slightest bit interested in their activities. Apparently the stench of the unwashed and condemned was too much for the guards, who remained outside.

"How much longer?" Yinn asked. "My jaw's getting tired." He rubbed his chin with one hand.

"Not long. I'm running out of saliva." McCoy shook the dice in two cupped hands and let it go. "Double sixes. As soon as Scotty identifies-"

"An' I _have_. Get on with it. We've only got a few minutes before the wall blows outward." Scott dropped down to their eye level. "I've marked the locations you'll need to affix it on the stones," he added, twirling a felt tip marker in one hand. "Mind ye, I'm only going by me best guess, not having me tricorder and all."

"Good enough. I'll go next. You keep playing until I come back." McCoy stood up, feeling stiffness in his back and legs. _A nice, long, hot soak. For a month, if I can manage it._ He stuck the gum to the wall on one of Scotty's marks, being careful to spread it out, before trudging slowly back to the game. "You're on, kid." As Yinn made his way to the blast site, McCoy grabbed the dice from the ground by Scotty's feet. "My turn." He shook and threw them. "Six and a three."

"Blast it, anyway," Scott muttered, a sour look on his face. "I haven't won a throw yet."

McCoy raised an eyebrow, then laughed. "You can curse me _later_. When we're free men."

Yinn looked in all directions before appearing at their side once again. "Done. Think it's going to be enough?"

"It'll have to be. We're fresh out." The faint odour of tangy smoke hung in the air even before the words left his mouth. _This is it._ He coughed twice and cupped his hands around his mouth. "Everybody get back! _NOW!_ " A few heads slowly turned to look at him. "AWAY FROM THE WALL!" He waved his hands towards the prisoners, and they seemed to get the message, quickening their pace in the opposite direction. A loud hissing sound filled the air, and McCoy dropped to the ground, covering his head with both arms. Several others did the same. _"Hit the dirt!"_

 _This is either the_ stupidest _decision I've ever made and we all die, or-_

 _BOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMM!_ A thunderous explosion rocked the prison, blowing out a large section of the rigged wall. Smoke and dust filled the air. McCoy pulled his collar up over his mouth and nose instinctively, even as it dawned on him that the ceiling was _not_ caving in. _Who needs a tricorder, Scotty? You just batted 1.000 without one._

Pushing himself up from the ground, he searched for Yinn and Scotty in the haze. The younger of the two was doubled over coughing while Scott was having a sneezing fit. Ears ringing, he peered beyond them to the other prisoners. Unlike their earlier apathy, and after recovering from the initial shock of the explosion, they seemed to have realized that nothing stood between them and liberty, because they were running for the brand new door in a streaming mass of humanoidanity. _I don't blame them one iota..._ He jumped out of the way to avoid colliding with a lanky bearded man who looked as though he hadn't had a decent meal in six months. Others clambered over the toppled stones, desperately trying to escape in all directions. He could hear shouting and pounding coming from behind the door; evidently, the prison guards had finally figured out something was amiss. He smiled as he studied the portal; somebody had apparently taken the time to push a large, heavy stone in front of it. _Ha._ _Took you long enough. That'll teach you to leave us unguarded._ "Scotty! Yinn! Let's get out of here before they figure out how to-" He smacked into a hard object, falling back on his backside. "Ow! Watch where you're going. Smoke isn't _that_ thick."

"Ouch yourself." A gloved hand reached out towards him. Leonard hesitated, then took it when he realized whose it was. The soot-streaked face of Jim Kirk frowned as he studied McCoy's equally dirty face. "Next time you're planning to bring down the house, you might want to warn me first. We were just about to _breach_ on that side." He shook his head. McCoy peered around him to see the security team ushering folks out of the prison while shielding them with their bodies, including Scotty and Yinn, who helped an older woman up over the pile of smoking stones.

Spock jogged towards them. "We do not have much time, sir," he shouted, trying to be heard over the warning alarms that had now begun to sound. "We must leave immediately."

 _Gee, you think?_ "Let's go. If I never see this place again, it'll be _too_ soon." All three men brought up the rear, climbing over the wall with considerable ease.

"Beam out coordinates 900 feet ahead," Kirk called. As Spock ran ahead, he lagged behind with the slower McCoy. "You know..." he huffed, jogging next to the doctor, "I just have one question for you; where the _heck_ did you get high-powered _explosives_ in a _prison_?"

McCoy chuckled. He threw his arm around Kirk's shoulders. "Score one for sloppy police procedure and practical jokes." Seeing Kirk's confused look, he added, "I'll explain later, over a drink. Which _you're_ buying."


	11. Kidnapping

"Look, Bones..." A limp hand waved across McCoy's field of vision before dropping like a stone at the side of the biobed. "Whole room's made of...cotton candy. Whee."

"Shut up and breathe," Leonard ordered, not unkindly. He adjusted the settings on Jim's monitor screen, studying the anaesthetic flow rate. _Excellent._ "If he starts to sing, increase the dose," he instructed the anaesthesiologist, who smiled slightly at him.

In a few short minutes, Kirk would be completely unconscious and oblivious to the surgery that was about to take place. A five inch long jagged chunk of metal that (thankfully) had missed his vital organs remained stuck in the left side of his abdomen; it was the only thing keeping him from bleeding any more than he had already. _And the worst part is, it wasn't even Jim's fault this time._ He'd been admiring a new artisanal metal sculpture in the recreation room when the ship jolted slightly, causing him to lose his balance and impale himself on it. Even _thinking_ about it made McCoy wince. _Sorry for nagging you all those times, Jim..._

"Mmm...Bonesy? Somethin's the matter w'the air." Jim's fingers grazed the clear mask that covered his face, squinting. "And the lights, too. Y'might wanna fix..." He smacked his lips a few times.

McCoy placed a hand on Kirk's shoulder. "Don't worry about it. Just let me fix _you_." He turned as a medical technician approached the surgical bed, bringing up the captain's scans on a screen nearby. "This is the latest one?"

"Yes, Doctor. No new haemorrhaging." The man tapped the screen with a finger, rotating the three-dimensional image until they had a clear view of the foreign object. "Think Lt. Brock'll ever forgive us for destroying his artwork?"

"He'd _better_. If we _hadn't_ cut through it, we'd have been stuck lugging that monstrosity down _here_." Leonard zoomed in on the sharp end, studying its position carefully. "And if you ask _me,_ there are far better uses for salvaged scrap metal than dangerous sculptures." He scribbled a few notes on his PADD with a silver stylus. "I want Martin assisting on this one, if she's not doing anything else right now. I'm concerned about corthinium toxicity setting in. He's allergic to the counteragent-" he muttered, pulling up a graph on the screen, "-so I don't want to risk even a small amount."

The technician nodded. "I think she's reviewing haematology scans, sir. I'll let her know." He exited, leaving McCoy, Dr. Dask and Kirk alone in the room together.

"Computer, increase lighting by 3% on surgical field indicated." McCoy pressed his lips together in approval as the captain's pierced abdomen came into view, prepped for surgical intervention. A glance at Jim's placid sleeping face revealed none of the agony he'd experienced less than an hour ago. _He's off to dreamland. No, that's not right...what do you call the world of unconsciousness? Void land?_ _Whatever..._ "We'll begin when Nurse Martin gets here, Joyura. He's stable for now."

"I'm not going anywhere," Dask replied, her large gray eyes blinking rapidly. To anyone who didn't know the studious Mydian doctor, the effect might have seemed as though she was flirting. In reality, it was a reflex action brought on by the relatively dry air in the surgical suite. The Mydian homeworld was very humid and warm all year round.

"Are you still using those drops daily?" McCoy asked. He had Mr. Scott working on a set of lightweight lenses for her that would emit the needed moisture. The engineer didn't seem to mind a side project when it enabled a crew member to adjust to life on the _Enterprise_. Sure, he'd muttered a little under his breath about deadlines and engine specs, but it lacked his usual annoyance. _He's all heart._ _Then again, Joyura's not exactly a plain Jane..._

"Mmm hmm. You'd better get that while you still can."

"Get what?" Even as he said that, he saw the blinking icon on the wall screen next to the head of the surgical bed. _Now who could that be?_ He rounded the sedated captain and tapped the screen. Spock's face appeared in a little box in the center, the bridge in the background. Through the viewscreen, he could see that they were currently travelling at warp speed.

"My apologies for not enquiring earlier, Doctor. I was only just informed. How is he?"

McCoy cocked his head to one side. "Stable. Removing the corthinium fragment should be fairly routine." He stared over the Vulcan's shoulder. "As long as we don't experience any more turbulence, that is. Where are we going, anyway?"

"The Latu Cathay system. Stellar cartography will be making a detailed sensor scan of the area." Spock paused. "It was the captain's last order prior to his accident. I trust he would not want us to change course."

"He didn't give any counter orders to me. Just babbled a bunch of nonsense about cotton candy. Meds, you know," McCoy clarified, sending Spock's raised left brow back down. "Don't worry about it. It'd take a lot more than a close encounter with a statue to slow Jim down." Leonard smiled as Nurse Martin came in with a tray of sterilized tools. "Love to chat, but we've got to get a move-" He narrowed his eyes as Spock moved closer to the screen, studying McCoy like a specimen. "Can I help you?" The Vulcan's attention was already directed across the room as he called something unintelligible across the bridge. _I should test him for ADD. What's so urgent, anyway? I don't see a red alert._

He turned as Nurse Martin set the instrument tray she was carrying down quickly with a clatter and pointed at him with a shaky hand. "D-doctor. Y-your _legs_..."

 _Nice of you to notice, but this isn't really the ti-_ McCoy's gaze dropped to his lower body. Bright red twinkling swirls of vapour and energy encircled him. _What the-some kind of transporter beam?_ He watched as the energy continued to engulf him. "Engineering!" he shouted into the pick-up. "Unauthorized beam-out in progress! Can you reverse?! Hello!" Even as he spoke, he could feel himself particulating. _Help me._ He reached out one hand towards his surprised staff, drawing it back slightly before either of the women could reach him. _Wherever I'm going, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't wish it on anyone._ As he dematerialized, the last thing that registered was a flashing indicator on Kirk's monitor screen. _Blood pressure's dropping! He's bleeding again. Crud. Jim!_ Leonard reached out in vain towards the captain's still form...

He reappeared inside a frosted glass box that was hardly wider than his body. Pale blue light shimmered around him, winking out as the transport sequence disengaged. One hand pressed against the cool pane in several places, looking for the catch. _Air's going to run out soon...come on..._ He twisted sideways, the front panel impenetrable, and was startled to see another man trapped in a similar enclosure. Wide orange eyes wild with panic stared out of a face covered in hanging black flesh. _I don't blame you one bit._ "Hang on. I'll help you," he called, locking gazes with the man. _Right, because everybody understands English out here._

A loud rapping caught his attention. Behind the first man, a _third_ enclosure held a stocky warrior clad in several brightly colored tribal robes. He was beating on the door with his double-headed club, but having no better luck than McCoy's nimble fingers. He frowned. _How many of us_ are _there, anyway?_ Just as he was about to count the pods, a hissing sound drew his eyes upwards. A white gaseous substance streamed from a small hole in the ceiling. _That's not good..._ He covered his mouth with the collar of his medical tunic, squeezing watery eyes shut. _What is this, an execution chamber?_ Coughing loudly, he lowered his head and sucked in a breath of clean air from below the vapour cloud, holding it in his lungs for as long as possible. Even as he did, the futility of it struck him. _I'm buying seconds and selling years._.. He slid down the glass slowly as far as he could, bending his legs against the opposite pane, his consciousness fading. When he did open his eyes briefly, black spots danced in front of them. _Oohhh..._ As he drifted into the darkness, he felt a rush of air cooling his back, and then...nothing.

The sound of soft music roused him from his drug-induced slumber. McCoy blinked several times in the darkness of the room. _Huh. I'm alive...or in the afterlife._ He sniffed the air. _No smoke or sulphur...that's a good sign._ Instead, a flowery fragrance filled his nostrils. Shifting slightly, he felt the rustle of soft pillows beneath his body. _So it wasn't poison...probably some kind of anaesthesia._ The irony was not lost on him _._ He shoved his hands into the mound of cushions beneath him and tried to stand, but they gave way under his pressure and slid off the pile, taking him with it.

He rolled onto the floor, coming to a stop near a polished tiled wall. His head swam as he struggled to his feet, reaching for a large wooden handle to pull himself upward. _What is this place?_ A shaft of light winked off the wall. As his vision cleared, he recognized it for a mirror. _Bet I look like something the cat dragged in._ Moving his face closer to the glass, he jumped back, startled at the sight that greeted him.

Instead of his usual neat, professional hairstyle, his dark brown locks had been teased into an elaborate arch on the top of his head. Several curls coiled up the sides, dabbed in glimmering gold streaks. His eyebrows were similarly adorned. Tiny silver earrings looped through formerly unpierced lobes. He lifted one hand to his right ear, turning his head sideways. _Hmm, they did a nice job. Wait a minute..._ McCoy's head dropped downwards. Instead of his medical tunic, he wore a bright green robe trimmed with silver edging. A similar set of pants stopped just above dark brown leather sandals. He made a face. _Of all the things I was expecting, a makeover didn't even make the top ten. Ewww. Whoever did this to me, all their taste is in their mouths._

The swish of a door opening interrupted his thoughts. Two muscular men entered his room, their stern features appearing to be set in stone. McCoy's jaw clenched. _I don't care what kind of a bad day you're having. I want answers!_ One of them reached out for his arm, and McCoy yanked it away. "No. I'm not going _anywhere_ until you tell me what the _heck_ this is all about! I'm a Starfleet officer, and that may not mean anything to you, but I-" The rest of the sentence died in his throat as the other guard levelled the barrel of a powerful energy rifle at his chest. _Okay...time to rethink this..._ He cleared his throat. "Uh, heh heh...where to?" The armed guard lowered his gun and both men flanked him, tightening their vice grips around his upper arms as they lead him out of the room and down a dark, windowless corridor.

Two flights of steps and three hallways later, he was unceremoniously shoved through a set of double doors into a brightly lit crowded room. Rubbing his arms vigorously to return the circulation to them, he looked around the chamber. Several individuals dressed in a similar fashion to his new duds stood against the far wall, shifting side to side. There was definitely an undercurrent of tension permeating the place; every occupant looked ill at ease. _Well, if they were all yanked from the safety of their ships like I was, no wonder they're freaked out._ He recognized some of the races, having seen them on various stations and planets the _Enterprise_ had stopped at in their travels; others were completely unknown to him. _So what exactly are we here for, anyway?_

Before he could think any further on the subject, the guards who had brought him here came back through the doors with several others, weapons drawn. One of them barked something unintelligible, shoving his gun in McCoy's direction. "All right, all right! I'm going!" he snapped, backing up against the wall as quickly as he could. _What? No last meal?_

He watched as four men lined up facing each other, large golden trumpets raised to the ceiling. Fanfare followed. _Great_. _Next thing you know, Robin Hood's going to come in and joust with the Sheriff of Nottingham._ As the music wound down, a shadow appeared in the doorway and a quiet voice dismissed the musicians. They laid their instruments on the ground and bowed low as their superior entered the room. After a second, McCoy's fellow captives did likewise, closing their eyes; he did not.

He was not prepared for what he saw. A woman clothed in yards of a silky peach fabric proceeded past the onlookers, with a regal bearing despite her young age. McCoy guessed she was only about 21 or so in Earth years. _All right, Maid Marian then. As I recall, she could shoot, too._ Soft russet hair curled up and underneath in a loose knot at her neck. She was wearing a jewelled necklace and crystal earrings. _Come to watch us die, milady?_ Her expression was more curious than bloodthirsty.

She walked down the line of captives, stopping every now and then to study their faces, asking questions about them of the guards, who, judging by their one-word responses, knew little other than the fact that they were present. McCoy was so busy trying to make out what they were saying that when she finally stopped in front of him, they startled each other. "Goodness. My apologies, ma'am." He placed one hand over his heart. "I didn't realize you-" He stopped as she reached out her hand to touch his gently.

McCoy swallowed hard. "Uh...well." Her eyes shone like a galaxy of stars. She lingered there for a moment longer, then turned to the guards and gave them a command. McCoy watched in surprise as the guards ushered all the other captives from the room, leaving them alone together.

Leonard scratched his head. _So I'm the chosen one? Chosen for what?_ Suddenly, realization hit him like a kick in the gut as he recalled how the woman had regarded him. _She likes me._ Even as the thought hit him, he felt her hand on his arm, pulling him along into a small room adjacent to the larger one. Streamers hung from the ceiling and brightly colored flowers decorated the walls. A cut glass jug and two small drinking glasses sat on a small altar at the front. _A wedding chapel? She_ really _likes me._

Instead of proceeding to the altar, however, she sat down and patted a section of the tiled floor next to her. Shrugging, he lowered himself to the ground, trying to wrap his mind around what was happening. _I guess this is the part where we get to know each other_ _first._ "So..." he began, leaning back against a stone pillar, "I'm Leonard, just in case you were wondering." She crossed her legs, regarding him as though he'd just said something terribly amusing, yet unable to hide a faint glimmer of confusion. All stately pretense was gone; an almost childlike wonder took its place. "You don't understand a word I'm saying, do you?"

He looked around the room. Though decorated, there was little natural adornment. No sign of any communications devices to be found. _How do you like that? I'm about to be married, and Jim'll miss out on being my best man. No. Stop. This is crazy. I don't want to get married. I don't even know her._ _What I want is to get out of here and check on my patients. For all I know, Jim's-_ He didn't let himself finish the thought, but an image of Kirk's abdominal wound filled his mind. _I have to find a way out_.

He stood up and crossed the room, taking his "fiancée" by the shoulders. "Listen, you're a very nice girl and all, but I don't belong here. I have friends who are worried about me. I need to go back to them. How do I do that?" She stared at him mutely. "You _have_ to understand me. I can't talk to anyone else. I don't think _you_ brought me here. Please, help me." A wisp of smoke irritated his nose, and he turned his head, sneezing. " _Please_."

A sad look filled her eyes, and she turned away from him, as though she realized he was rejecting her. "I'm sorry," he whispered, heading for the doorway. There was no doorway. _Must've gotten turned around. But I'm sure she brought me in this way._ He spun in the opposite direction, but still no door greeted him. _Where is it?_ Heading in the direction he'd come again, he slapped his hands against the brick wall. It didn't give an inch. He coughed again as smoke filled his nose and eyes. _I didn't see any lit candles in here._ He reached for another section of the wall and discovered to his surprise that it was warm. In fact, the entire room was heating up. "Is it just me, or is it getting hotter in here?" He fanned his face, cringing inwardly. _Maybe it's a good thing she can't speak my language; I sound like I'm giving her a cheap line._

Sweat ran down his face, streaking glittery hair gel and smoke residue down his forehead. Just as he looked up, one of the streamers caught fire and sailed downward towards her. "Look out!" he yelled, pushing her out of the way, feeling sparks rain down on his back. _Ahhh!_ _And I thought I wasn't going to blazes. The whole building's on fire!_ Judging by the fear on her face, she knew it, too.

Both bolted across the room and began to pound on the wall desperately. "Let us out! Help! Fire!" Several moments passed, but nobody came to their aid. Finally, weak and tired, they slumped against the wall, her body pressed against his for comfort. As he put one arm around her shoulders, an icon on the wall caught his eye. What appeared to be a roaring flame and two stick figures joining hands. _Wait a second...we're sacrifices?! No wonder there's no way out._ _No way out..._ A small flue above their heads vented the smoke out of the room. He grabbed her hand and pulled. "Come on!"

Getting down on his hands and knees, he lowered himself to the ground beneath the flue. "You first. Be safe." She hesitated for a moment, then stepped up onto his back and pulled herself up through the opening. He waited for a moment or two, covering his face with his sleeve, then reached up towards the ceiling and climbed upward, feeling his ribs squeeze in the narrow shunt. _Why do they always make these things so small, anyway?_ He let out his breath, deflating his chest in an effort to decrease his width. His hands burned as they pressed against the heated metal walls.

Staring ahead through the stinging smoke, he couldn't make out the young woman's form in the tall shaft. _Wow, she's fast._ Her apparent speed spurred him onward and upward, grabbing narrow indentations in the wall desperately. Finally, he caught a glimpse of daylight through the smoky air and hauled himself up and out, abrading his abdomen on the edge of the chimney. " _Ahhhh_..." As he flopped backwards onto the gravel roof, he examined himself for injuries. The palms of both hands were singed and sooty. His formerly pristine clothes were a complete write-off; they was almost black with ashes and shredded where he'd snagged it on the chimney grate. _I'm a doctor, not a chimney sweep._ He coughed several times as he stood to his feet, scanning the roof for his companion. _Now, where did she go?_

A terrified female scream answered his silent question, and he sped towards the source of the sound, heart pounding. Over three ridges on the left side he leapt, finally skidding to a stop at the base of a tall spire. There, his gaze was drawn to his "fiancée" as she clung helplessly to a wrought iron beam, just out of reach of a burly guard who was standing there, hands on hips, laughing at her. _I thought they worked for her._ _Heartless scumbag. Why don't you help her?!_ McCoy watched in horror as he stooped down and reached for a fist-sized rock, then pitched it at her. She cried out in fear and ducked her head down as the stone sailed overhead before rattling to the ground far below. A sick grin twisted the guard's face. He chuckled as he reached for another rock, this one almost twice as large.

Before he knew what he was doing, Leonard launched himself at the man, grabbing his arm and yanking it backwards, twisting. The guard howled in surprise, dropping his rock on Leonard's right foot. _Aghh...no time to feel it._ Whipping around, he shoved McCoy backwards and grabbed him by the collar, bending him back over the edge. A cool breeze rustled through McCoy's hair as time seemed to stop for a moment. Bringing both legs upward, he thrust his feet into the man's belly, flipping back into a standing position. The guard staggered backwards, tripping over a ridge on the roof and cracking the back of his skull on a jutting stone, going limp. McCoy let out a loud sigh. _I'd lay you 10 to 1 he's dead, but I'm not going to stick around to find out. The woman..._

His eyes shot to the spire. Impossibly, the metal pole that topped it now hung at an awkward angle over the edge of the building. Two hands held on for dear life, fingers straining to maintain her grip. _No. Not after all that!_ He climbed up the sides of the tower and wrapped his legs around it. "Up here! Reach for me!" She lifted her soot-streaked face to look at his, her eyes welling up with tears. "It's okay, darlin'. Just let go and take my hand. It's going to be all right," he soothed, even as he shivered inside. _I don't blame you for being scared. It's at least a hundred foot drop._ "Trust me," he added, putting every ounce of sincerity he could into his voice, willing her to believe him.

After what seemed like hours, she nodded and released one hand, her fingertips grazing his. "That's it, just a little closer," he encouraged, inching away from his secure position to extend his arm towards her. As he did, he felt his legs slide down the sides of the tower and clenched them closer. Again she tried, but her other hand's grip loosened, which frightened her into regaining her grasp on the fragile spire with the reaching hand.

McCoy sucked in a breath, watching as her body swayed back and forth over the ground below. _No way she's going to try that again. I've got to reach her some other way._ Lifting one foot to a step on the tower, then the other, he slowly ascended until he was straddling the still-attached edge of the spire. Extending his arm around her slim waist, he drew her gently towards himself and the roof. "It's all right. Come on." The spire groaned beneath their combined weights; a sharp crack startled both. Sensing urgency, McCoy grabbed her tightly and shoved her backwards towards the roof. The sudden movement sent him sliding off the end of the spire, breaking his already fragile hold. Before he knew what was happening, he was falling through the air, arms flailing in vain.

Over and over he tumbled violently in midair. On one of his rotations, he thought he saw her face as she leaned over the edge, watching his descent. Oddly, she seemed... _peaceful._ Not the least bit traumatized at the impending death of the man who had given his life to save hers. _Shock? Sociopath? I'll never know, will I?_ As the ground rushed up to meet him, his last thought was that he'd died saving a life. _A fitting epitaph for a doctor. Pity nobody will know._

As the ground rushed up to meet him, he closed his eyes, waiting for nothingness.

It never came.

McCoy blinked several times, trying to clear his vision. He was lying on a cushioned sofa. Soft lighting filled the "chapel" he'd almost been burned alive inside, revealing no hint of the conflagration. Only the barest hint of smoke issued from the many candles, and that was scented. _What happened? How did I land_ here _again?_

"You did well," a female voice spoke.

He sat up and turned to his right. An elegant woman was lighting more candles with a long match on a narrow stand nearby. As she turned, he sat up straighter in surprise. "You!" It was the woman he'd tried to save; like the room, she bore no hint that she'd been in peril earlier. Her expression bore the serene peace he'd seen as he fell, and she wore the same dress he'd seen her in earlier, restored to its former glory. He looked down at his own body. Instead of his fancy dress garb, he was once again wearing his Starfleet issue medical scrubs. Turning his hands over, he saw clean, healing burns. "I-I don't understand. Why did you kidnap me? And the others?" he whispered. Feeling the room begin to spin, he brought one hand to his forehead.

In an instant, she had dropped to the floor by his side, offering him some kind of drink in one of the glasses he'd seen on the altar earlier. He took slow sips, then pushed it away.

Setting the glass on the candle stand, she smiled at him. "You did well, brave one. Such compassion and courage. Such selflessness. We do not see it very often around here."

McCoy smiled thinly. "You'll pardon me for asking, but just where _is_ here?"

She touched his face with the back of her hand. "Far, far away from anything you know. Your people will likely never reach it in your lifetime. But someday, they shall." She smiled sadly. "The years have taught us that those who surround us cannot be trusted. So we sought to take the measure of other races, to know what manner of man they were before they found us. So we could be ready."

 _This room must be some kind of holodeck, then._ "So the fire? Your attacker? The spire? All a test of man?" McCoy asked, his initial confusion being replaced by a mixture of frustration and understanding. _I wouldn't have minded it myself if the Federation had a heads-up on some of our enemies_. _Save a lot more lives that way._

"Yes. And if your people are anything like you, Leonard, I am sorry I will not see the day myself." Rising to her feet, she stood gracefully. "You may leave whenever you wish. I shall send you back in the same manner as I took you."

"You can do that?" Leonard slid off the couch and stood. "'Cause I was starting to wonder." As he followed her out of the room, he added, "You know, you have terrible timing. I was just about to perform surgery on my captain when you snatched me away." His jaw clenched as an image of Kirk's unconscious body lying on the surgical bed flashed before his eyes.

Her eyes lowered. "For that I am sorry. I did not realize." She placed one hand on the doorframe. "You are close?"

"As brothers." McCoy rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. _Maybe next time you'll think about that_ before _you go people-snatching,_ he finished silently. Aloud, he continued, "It's been... _interesting,_ to say the least."

They walked down the corridor past several closed doors before entering the transporter room he'd materialized in earlier. As he stepped up onto the platform, a thought stopped him in his tracks. He snapped his fingers. "Say, I told you my name, but you didn't tell me yours." He smiled mischievously. "I think you owe me _that_ much, don't you?"

She looked up from the glowing control screen. "It is Galythe." Her lips curved upward. "May the best of life be yours, Leonard."

McCoy nodded. _Galythe. A pretty name for a pretty girl._ Stepping into the transporter chamber, he closed the door behind him, watching her initialize transport. He lifted his hand to wave just as his legs disappeared. _Here I go..._

He reappeared next to a mobile cabinet in the corner of the surgical suite, much to the surprise of the medical assistant who was cleaning the room. "Doctor!" she gasped, dropping a pile of used linens. "Where have you been?"

"Away," McCoy responded, bending down to retrieve the sheets. He dropped them in a heap on the operating table. "Where's Jim?"

"The captain? Resting." She unfurled a sheet and stuffed the others inside one by one. "Everybody's been looking for _you_ since you disappeared six hours ago."

 _Six hours?_ McCoy's head spun. "Well, I'm here now. Guess I'd better let everybody know." He looked down at his hands. _Probably ought to be checked out, as well. Between unidentified knockout gas and hologram burns, it's a wonder I can even_ stand _._

He reached over to press an icon on the computer monitor, but before he could touch it, the video viewer came on. Spock appeared on the screen. "Doctor. I am pleased to see you have returned." The Vulcan's features relaxed.

"How did you-"

"When we traced the unidentified transporter signal, we found its origin point to be outside of explored space, though we could not pin down a definite location. As it would take considerable time to locate your exact whereabouts _and_ travel there, I elected to remain in this area until a plan of action could be determined. In the meantime, should the signal re-occur – as it just did – we would have a better chance of tracing it." _Naturally._ "Are you well?"

McCoy pursed his lips. "Pretty good. I've got a rip-roaring story for you."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "'Rip roaring', doctor?"

"Never mind. Carry on." McCoy turned off the screen and strode out of the room, greeting various medical staff members as he made his way to Jim's hospital room. _It sure is good to be back,_ he thought, picking up a medical tricorder from a table. Stopping in the doorway, he rapped softly on the frame. "Jim? You awake?"

The captain opened one groggy eye, saw McCoy, instrument in hand, and closed it again. "Nope."

McCoy shook his head and stepped inside, sitting down on a small chair near Kirk's bed. "I'll give you points for trying. How are you feeling?" he asked, running the scanner over the captain's wound.

"Like I've been run through with a _bat'leth_." Kirk groaned, trying to sit up. "Hey, did I say anything weird while I was out of it? Some of the nurses were giving me funny looks a few minutes ago."

 _Good cohesion, toxicity minimal...they did a nice job._ "Mmm. Was that before or _after_ you asked about sponge baths?" Leonard leaned forward, studying the numbers on the monitor. _Well within normal range..._

"Very funny, Bones." Kirk ran a hand through his mussed hair, yawning. "Ow. Remind me to put Brock on sanitation duty." He shifted against the pillows. "So when do I get out of here, anyway?" Kirk frowned as McCoy tapped the screen, bringing up the latest scan images. As he did, Galythe's face flitted across his vision. He smiled. _Prettiest captor I've ever had..._

"Hello. Earth to McCoy," Kirk called, poking the doctor in the side.

Leonard flinched. "Oh, sorry." He sat back in his chair. "Did you say something?"

"Never mind. I think I already know what the answer is." Kirk crossed his arms over his chest, rubbing one eye with his finger. "You looked like you were a million light-years away just now."

McCoy chuckled. _You don't know the half of it, kiddo._


	12. Logic

"As usual, you are allowing your innate human nature to supersede good sense, Doctor. Were you to consider the ramifications of your actions fully, I doubt the ill-informed decision you evidently have come to would even enter your mind."

Leonard gritted his teeth together and made a fist with one hand. _You don't want to know what's in my mind right now, Spock._ Taking a long, deep breath, he flexed his fingers slowly and studied his opponent, who sat cross-legged opposite him, his uniform forsaken in favour of a more relaxed single-piece burgundy garment of Vulcan origin. His studious gaze somehow managed to both pin McCoy to the wall and concentrate on the game board before them.

It was just after 1300 hours. Recreation room two was oddly deserted for this time of day; aside from them, there were only four other occupants. Communications technician LaRue was curled up in a tall chair, reading an honest-to-goodness paper book, a mug of steaming cider on the table nearby. The other three were playing some sort of retro video game on a large display. Every now and then one would let out a loud cheer as a new high score plateau was reached. He half expected the Vulcan to turn around and give them a disapproving librarian shush.

Instead, he found himself the object of disdain. "It is your turn now. You should pay attention to my moves as well as your own. You will find it crucial for the formulation of strategy."

McCoy threw his hands in the air. "Oh, for crying out loud, Spock. It's just a game." _Whoops_. _There goes that eyebrow again. All right, a Vulcan game._ Vis-ner-kulas. _Whatever_. _I can never remember all of that Vulcan lingo anyway._

Spock's shoulders shifted down a fraction. "Hardly, Doctor. _Vis-ner-kulas_ is a highly sophisticated neurosynaptic re-programming module with origins in the distant past, and therefore worthy of more respect than you are affording to it."

 _AKA an ancient Vulcan brain game._ _Gotcha._ "All right. I apologize." McCoy reached out one hand and picked up a green cube-shaped playing piece, twirling it in between his fingers. "Your turn," he added, setting the piece in a slot on the underside of the curved board. "I didn't know my brain _needed_ training."

Spock was already reaching for his white pyramid shaped pawn, pressing it against the edge of the board before McCoy's hand pulled back. _Always a few steps ahead, aren't you? Probably know what my next three moves will be, too._ "Anyone can benefit from the game, Doctor. Doing so does not imply stupidity. Attempting to skew the results, on the other hand..."

"For the last time, I _wasn't_ cheating." He could tell by the way that Spock's brow furrowed that the Vulcan was not buying it. McCoy hunched forward and tried to remember which piece went where. "I forgot I'd already moved, okay? I've never played this game before." Another cube piece slid into position. _For all the good it'll do me._

"Did you also forget which shape pieces you were playing with?" _Ouch._ Spock tapped his lower lip with his index finger. "You seem to share the captain's propensity for attempting to control both sides of the match."

"I guess it's just our unfortunate humanity coming through." McCoy stretched out on his side, waiting for all the little gears and whirring motors in Spock's head to produce the Vulcan's next move. "You know, when I came in here, I wasn't looking for a workout _or_ a morality lesson. All I wanted was a nice couple of hours in the rec room, maybe a few laughs..." He shrugged, chuckling half-heartedly. "I was surprised to see _you_ in here. Should've _known_ you'd spend your off-duty hours working your neurons to the bone."

"One should strive for self-improvement in every act. Even recreation." Spock moved another pyramid piece, reaching for a cup of tea with the other. "For instance, one can learn to take loss tactfully. As you will have the opportunity to momentarily." He closed his eyes, waiting for the significance of his comment to dawn on the doctor.

 _Oh, I will, will I?_ McCoy blinked several times, hoping ( _rather stupidly_ ) that the board would magically change in his favour. It did not. _And even if it did, I've been staring at the thing for so long, I'll go blind._ "Congratulations." He extended one hand towards Spock. After a short pause, he took it and they shook. "I guess in a way we both win. You get all the bragging rights, and I get an IQ boost." McCoy stood up, stretching out the kinks in his back. "Oh. Can I get you anything before I limp back to sickbay in defeat? A soda?"

"No thank you." Spock paused, 3 of his game pieces clasped in one hand. "But there is something you could do for me, Doctor. I require assistance in procuring a sample that is not easily attainable."

Leonard snorted, selecting a diet root beer from the replicator menu. "Been there. Who or what do you want me to tranquilize?" In his medical career, he'd faced more than his share of less than cooperative patients. _Some fear medical treatment...I get that, I really do. Others, it's_ me _they don't like. Why not? I'm a nice guy. Well, I try to be, most of the time. But some people can be a professional pain in the-_

"My subject will not require sedation." Spock dropped the pieces into a small wooden box and closed the lid, pressing until it locked with a soft _snap_. "The difficulty is of another nature altogether. I would ask the captain to aid me, except he is currently otherwise occupied."

"Right." McCoy took a long, slow sip from his glass. "Ah. What's her name?"

"Montgomery Scott." At the rattle of the doctor's ice cubes, Spock continued. "They are discussing his progress on repairs following the plasma storm last week."

 _Wouldn't it be far more productive to actually_ perform _repairs than discuss them?_ "All right," McCoy decided, draining his glass, "I've got another couple of hours before I have to return to work. Are we still in the Marinna system?" _We could be back in the Sol system for all I know._

"Currently in standard orbit around Marinna XV. Scientific survey teams are spread out through the northern continents." Spock folded his hands behind his back, flushing. "The sample in question is a rare flora that bears a resemblance to an Earth rose. Ensign Marcos mentioned it in one of his botany reports." _Yeah...and?_ He cleared his throat. "I was hoping to obtain one for Nyota."

 _Well, well..._ Leonard smiled. "Going to pitch a little woo, Spock?" _Do those eyebrows of yours have muscles or thrusters?_ "And you need my help for what exactly?"

The Vulcan coughed. "As I said before, it will be difficult. I would rather not go alone." Something about the tone of Spock's voice gave him the distinct impression that "difficult" wasn't the word for it. _Does "risky" ring a bell? Ah, what the heck? I'll do it._ "Thank you."

McCoy frowned, dropping the glass into the replicator return slot. "How'd you know I was going to say yes?"

"Subtle instinctive cues." As they moved through the rec room door, he clarified, "As I believe the expression goes, it was written all over your face."

"You know," McCoy grunted, gripping the rock face with a gloved hand, "you could have told me we were going cliff climbing." He clung to the vertical surface for a moment, feeling the wind evaporate the perspiration on his forehead. _I'm cold,_ _sore, and thirsty._ He winced as the straps dug into his thigh. _Ouch. Also, I'm pretty sure I'm using Keenser's harness._..

"Yes, I could have." Spock inched downwards slowly until he was level with the doctor. Unlike McCoy, his face showed no sign of discomfort. "I shall not bore you with my mental calculations, but suffice it to say that I determined the probability of your cooperation to be significantly higher without telling you all the details." _You think?_ He pressed his boots against the rocks and braced himself, removing a small pair of needle-nose clippers from his utility belt. A couple of quick snips of the air, and he replaced them. _I thought you double-checked everything back on the_ Enterprise _._

Leonard turned his head slightly for a view of the gorge below. Sharp jutting rocks rose up through thick fog like bayoneted soldiers standing at attention, ready to pierce helpless victims. _So_ _I'm dangling by a thread over the blasted Grand Canyon to help a lovesick Vulcan pick flowers for his girlfriend. Either I'm all heart, or I've got no brains, or both._ He leaned back slightly and gripped the rappelling cord with one hand, scratching his head with the other. "So where is this rosebush we're trimming?"

"Another three hundred feet down." Spock released the clip on his harness and slid down ten feet before coming to a stop. "Please do not tarry, Doctor. We only have an hour before we have to return to the ship."

 _Nag, nag, nag..._ "I'm coming. Keep your shirt on." Leonard's left boot kicked against the cliff, sending small pebbles raining downwards. Gritting his teeth, he released his own clip and descended slowly and surely. While the _Enterprise_ science teams would be remaining here for another day, he and Spock had a senior staff meeting to attend that afternoon. _And we'll need at least half an hour to clean up and change._ He chuckled to himself. Technically, nobody knew they were planetside; Spock had left the scientific survey in the capable hands of his staff, while McCoy was fairly certain sickbay could get along without him for another few hours. _Thesin made that abundantly clear. Matter of fact, she practically shoved me out the door this morning. "Go. Rest. Anything but pace around waiting for the end of the universe."_

He wrinkled his nose as fine red soil rained down onto his face. "Ah-ah-achoo!" Wiping it on a sleeve, he sniffled and peered up at the apex of the cliff. Their harnesses were attached to the rock by a bolt that was drilled in a foot deep. Standard Starfleet issue. _And it was either this or we fly down here. At least climbing's good exercise._ His gaze darted downwards, abdomen tightening in nervousness. His eyes squeezed shut. _For instance, my stomach muscles are getting a good workout right about now..._

They stopped several times in their descent, finally coming to rest on a narrow ledge several hundred feet from the ground. A short spiroid shrub grew out of the rocks on their left, covered in pale yellow blossoms with just a hint of blue at the tips. Allowing himself some slack, Spock stepped over to the bush and knelt before it, studying the plant with a practiced eye. "Perhaps you would like to rest here for a moment," he suggested, turning slightly at the waist.

"G-good idea." Leonard slid down against the cliff and eased into a sitting position. Unbuckling the light carry bag from his waist, he opened the seal, removing a hydration pack and a silver-wrapped ration. He set the snack down on his lap and twisted the pack's cap open, raising the straw to his lips. Cool, clear water flooded his mouth. After three draws from it, he set it aside, reaching for the ration pack. _Pargolu potato paste? Hey, it's food._ He squeezed the tube, frowning as he tasted it. _Ugh. Barely._ He checked the back of the foil wrapper. _Vitamins, Leonard. Remember the vitamins._

A quiet chipping sound caught his attention. Spock was now bent over, his back to the open air, picking at the rocks with a sharp metal awl. "Hey. I thought you were going to _prune_ that thing, not _rip_ it out of the ground."

Spock paused. "I am hardly 'ripping it out of the ground', as you put it. The plants have an intertwined root system. By separating one from the others, I can obtain a viable sample suitable for replanting without disturbing its natural growth." He stepped back. "It is more logical than eradicating this shrub entirely."

McCoy placed his hands behind his head, kicking his feet from side to side. "Mmm hmm. About as logical as putting your life in danger to get your girlfriend a present. I'm sure Nyota'd rather have you in one piece than a posy any day."

Spock shook his head. "I am still wearing my harness, which is securely fastened at both ends, as per safety protocols. There is no reason to fear for my life."

 _Oh, yeah? Tell that to my pulse._ "All the same," he continued, "I wouldn't stand so close to the edge if I were you."

"If you are concerned about the possibility of a sudden gust of wind blowing me off of the cliff, I can assure you that there are no atmospheric disturbances in the area." Spock leaned closer to the plant, his back arching slightly. " _If_ , however, your apprehension is based on the fact that I may suddenly step backwards," he added in a sharper tone of voice, "I submit to you that the chances of that only _increase_ when I am _distracted_."

 _Vulcan for "shut up"._ "Gotcha." McCoy mimed zipping his lips, then took another mouthful of potato paste. _Vitamins, minerals, and energy._ _Try not to upchuck._ He swallowed hard and looked out across the gorge. A thick haze blocked out the sky, but he could just make out the sound of rushing water off in the distance. A slow yawn began to spread across his features, and he stretched his arms upward, suddenly feeling the effects of his mid-afternoon climb. _Wonder if any of the science teams are nearby? We could rendezvous with the shuttle, and that'd give me time for a quick catnap. Heck, I probably have time_ now _, the way he's babying that rosebush._

He stole a glance at Spock, who was now carefully untangling the roots with his bare fingers. "You could help me by opening the protective sleeve now," the Vulcan suggested, setting his sample down to one side and beginning to re-bury the remaining plant's roots.

Leonard flipped open his carry bag, removing a flat, transparent sleeve rolled into a cylinder. "Is that all you invited me down here for?" he asked, less angry than confused. "To carry stuff for you?" _I'm a doctor, not a pack mule,_ he finished silently.

Spock stood up, dusting off his hands. "It is illogical to go anywhere alone when there is a potential for peril." He picked up his blossoms from the ground and strode towards McCoy. "Furthermore, I did not _wish_ to be alone."

McCoy finished unrolling the sleeve and held it open as Spock slid the flowers inside. "Interesting. If I didn't know any better, I'd think that was an admission of _friendship_."

"I do not find you _completely_ disagreeable." Spock pressed the sleeve shut and began to put his gloves back on. "We have been of like mind on enough occasions not to rule out the possibility of amiability."

"Good." McCoy slid the sleeve into his carry bag and cinched it around his waist once more. "Ready to go?" he asked, replacing the half-empty food tube and hydration pack inside and flipping the flap closed.

"I am." Both men inspected their harnesses at all points; McCoy loosened his slightly until it was no longer digging into his flesh. _Phew. Thank goodness._ Moving towards the cliff wall, they began the slow ascent. Unlike their earlier drop, they would be fighting _against_ gravity, not travelling with it. _Good thing this place's pull is a touch lighter than Earth's. We could use all the help we can get._

"After we get to the plateau, see if you can find out where the nearest rendezvous is going to be. It'd be nice to cool our heels for a bit before we get back to work."

"The shuttle will not pick up the science teams until later this evening, well _after_ _we_ are due back on shift."

McCoy shrugged his shoulders, raising one boot higher onto a small foothold. "It's not set in stone. We'll just say we were unavoidably detained."

Spock pulled himself up higher, his arms straining only slightly. "I wonder how you will explain that to the patient you were unable to treat while you were... _detained_. Need I remind you of your duty, Doctor?"

 _You most certainly do not_. Giving the rope a good yank, McCoy caught up with Spock's progress, breathing rapidly. "As I recall, _you_ were the one who asked me to come along."

"Accompanying is not the same thing as dallying needlessly."

McCoy paused to wipe sweat off his brow. "If Marcos found the blasted thing, why didn't you ask _him_ to get you some?" _We could be in the rec room playing another round of_ vis-ner-kulas _. And this time, I'd smoke your sorry-_

"Because he is currently on the other side of the planet cataloguing conifers." Spock blinked. "Did you hear that?"

 _Yeah. It's me sighing._ "What?" He froze, straining to hear something, anything. "No, I didn't. You must be imagining things. Let's go." Even as he said it, he wondered. _He's usually pretty sharp. Maybe_ I'm _wrong._

"Perhaps you are right." As Spock hauled himself upwards, a sharp, grating sound made them both pause and look up just in time to get a face full of pebbles and dust. Both men coughed, shielding their eyes from the particulates.

McCoy squinted through blurry tears and tried to make out the top of the cliff. _It's never good when the rocks begin to crumble._ "Can you see the bolts? Are they secure?" _Please say yes._

Spock hesitated. "I believe yours is. As for my own-" Before he could finish, the end of Spock's bolt slid loose from the rock face with a sharp whistling screech, tangling itself around and around in the slack of McCoy's harness rope, bringing several rocks with it. As McCoy felt his body drop under the additional weight of Spock hanging below him, one baseball-sized rock struck the Vulcan on the side of the head. "Oh!" He went limp. A green gash on his right temple dripped blood.

"Spock!" McCoy let go of his rope and reached down toward him instinctively. _Right,'cause he's going to reach back. Not a good time to let go, either._ Flailing his arms around for a few seconds, he gradually regained a vice grip around his rope, breathing heavily. _Okay, think, Leonard; is he even alive?_ He zeroed in on a pulse point on Spock's neck. _Nothing. But that means nothing. You can't always see it._ His eyes roved towards the Vulcan's chest. After a few seconds, the slight rise and fall reassured him. _Good. Now what?_ He sneezed again, feeling the slow sway back and forth. _I'm not a pendulum, and neither is he. Where's my comm?_

He reached down for his belt and pulled on the small device, trying to un-wedge it from its holder. _Pesky gloves...come on._ Yanking one off with his teeth at the index finger, he tried again. This time, the comm slipped out easily...out of the pouch and out from between his fingers, dropping straight down into the canyon. _Beautiful. Next time, I'm going to wear it on a lanyard around my neck. Next option._

He thrust his hand towards his belt again, feeling in vain for a spare comm. His fingers touched something smooth and hard, and he drew it out. _A utility knife. Can do everything but make a ground-to-ship call. Not very useful, after all._ McCoy's heart leapt into his throat as the bolt slid sideways and slightly downward, showering dust onto him again. He wrapped his arms around the rope, which suddenly seemed appallingly narrow. _What do I do now?_

Opening one eye, he once again fixed on the knife, snapping it open to reveal the blade. It glinted in the late afternoon sun. A thought began to pull at the corners of his mind as he looked down at Spock's unconscious body. _Is he still breathing? And even if he is...what are the chances that we'll_ both _make it out alive?_ He raised the blade, running it up and down the harness. _If he was awake, he'd tell me to._ He shook his head sideways, dismissing the thought as quickly as it came. _Have I lost my_ marbles _?_ _If he was_ awake _, I wouldn't even be considering this!_ "Darn it, Spock. Get your cockamamie logic out of my head!" he yelled. The Vulcan took no notice.

McCoy smiled to himself. _Confound it,_ _I'm going to do this_ my _way._ He studied the situation. Spock's bolt was firmly caught in his harness, which had knotted itself like a macramé sculpture. _You couldn't undo it without a blowtorch._ Once again, he remembered the knife and looked above his head. The cliff stretched high and craggy before him, altered by the rocks that had fallen moments ago. _He can't climb, and I can't take him with me...but if I could get up there alone..._ Before he could change his mind, he braced himself against a narrow ledge, toes digging into the rock, and sliced through his rope just above the attachment point. _No going back._ Slipping the knife back into his belt, he inhaled shakily and reached for a small handhold above and to the right.

It was just him and the rock now. _Become one with the rock._ _Not in a freaky metaphysical way or anything. Just don't fall._ _Why'd I have to say that word?_ His cheek pressed against the gritty surface as he raised his left foot higher, coming to rest in a shallow gap. The light wind made his spine tingle, but he pressed on. _Have to make it...have to get to the top...for Spock._ He dipped his head down, feeling the hard leather of his glove between his teeth. _Come on..._

He free-climbed in stages, leaving nothing but an inch or so or space between his tense body and the cliff. The harness dangled loosely off his body as he raised first one hand, then the opposite foot, ascending higher, higher. _This is easy. Just pretend you're in the holodeck. You can do this. No worries..._ He stopped short as his harness clip caught on something. _Okay, big worries._ He tried to move twice, but continued to notice resistance. Slowly, he slipped his hand down and jangled the metal clip back and forth in an attempt to work it loose. _I should've been hanging off_ this _thing, not the bolt._

After what seemed like an eternity, he finally managed to free the clip, dislodging a small stone. _Thank you._ Leonard drew in a slow breath around his glove and dug the nails of his bare hand into a crevice nearby, pressing down. As he raised his body upwards, he felt something sharp poke him in the upper torso. He lowered his gaze. A small twig branched off from a larger bough that grew out of a crack in the rocks. Edging sideways, he lifted one foot and settled it on the thickest portion of the branch close to the cliff, pushing up again, resisting the urge to press a hand to his shaky arm muscles to still them.

A minute later, his right hand brushed against the hanging harness rope he'd abandoned. McCoy could barely see Spock from here, but a slight tug on the rope was sufficient to feel the Vulcan's weight below. "Now just you hang in there. I'm almost-ugh-at the top." _Hang in there? Where else would he go?_ Spying the next handhold, he extended his left arm up and to the side, gripping it firmly. A little too firmly.

The wedge crumbled between his fingers. McCoy gasped as his hand dropped to his side. _Confound it!_ Flailing, he pressed his knees to the rocks, feeling the narrow ridges bite into his flesh. Time seemed to slow down as the pain burned him. Grabbing desperately at something, anything that would stop him from falling, his fist once again closed around the end of his rope.

By now, his heart was rattling around somewhere in the vicinity of his esophagus. He tightened his grip until his knuckles turned white, wrapping both arms around himself. _Easy there, Leonard...you're gonna be all right. You_ have _to be all right._ He pressed the soles of his boots against the rock, needing to feel something solid. _Huh. Seems to hold my weight. Maybe it's because we're not hanging at the same level...our combined weights sort of balance out like this. Well, hallelujah._ With renewed vigour, he began to climb as he had earlier, using the rope to allow him to walk up the cliffside.

In less than a minute, he was hauling himself up over the edge, crawling through the dirt and rolling onto his back, legs bent upward at the sky. He lay there like that for a few seconds, then sat up and got onto his knees again, putting his glove back on. Bracing himself, he reached over the side for the end of the rope that was attached to his bolt and pulled upwards. He only managed to raise it a few inches before Spock's weight pulled him forward. McCoy wiped a bead of sweat off his face and tried again, tugging with all his might. _What did you have for breakfast this morning, Spock? Lead Krispies?_

It took several gruelling, painful minutes, but finally Leonard spied the familiar blue color of a Starfleet science uniform. _About time._ One good pull, and Spock rolled over onto his stomach. McCoy dropped the rope and hurried to the man's side, feeling for a pulse. _Strong and steady._ He turned Spock over, assessing the head wound. A dried green streak ran down the side of his face where the blood had been drawn by gravity. _Looks worse than it really is...they always do. Not too deep, and the bleeding's stopped. Standard neurological assessment and skull imaging just to be safe._

As he unzipped his pouch to retrieve his tricorder, Spock's eyelids fluttered slightly. McCoy dropped the instrument. "Spock?" The doctor grabbed Spock under the arms and lifted until his head was propped up on his knees. "Say something."

One eye opened, then the other. "What happened?" Spock squeezed his eyes shut, moving his head sideways before opening them again, slower this time. "My head hurts," he muttered, reaching for the wound.

"That's 'cause a rock bopped you good." Leonard held up two fingers in front of his face. "How many fingers?"

"Two." Spock coughed and eased himself upwards until he was sitting with his back hunched over. "I suppose I have you to thank for rescuing me. My sincere gratitude."

McCoy's mouth twitched. "Don't you forget it. If you weighed a few pounds more, we'd _both_ be splattered all over the bottom of the gorge." At the sight of a raised eyebrow that lowered itself slightly with pain, he continued. "Your harness came unbolted and got tangled up in mine. Had to cut myself loose so I could climb and haul your butt up here."

"A risky move, Doctor. One which pure logic and self-interest would have advised against. You would have been far safer cutting _me_ loose and remaining harnessed."

McCoy held a hydration pack to Spock's mouth, looking away so the Vulcan wouldn't see his expression, a mixture of amusement and self-disgust. _Almost did, too. But I'm not going to let you have the satisfaction of knowing it._ He chuckled as Spock sipped. "Are you kidding? After what you went through to retrieve those flowers?" He sat back on his haunches, brushing off his hands. "I hope they were worth it."

"I am certain Nyota will be pleased with them." Spock wiped his mouth with a gloved hand.

McCoy shook his head. "Not if you tell her what happened. She'll _kill_ you. Heck, she'll kill _me_ for not _stopping_ you."

The Vulcan's fingers grazed his temple thoughtfully. "I can hardly explain my injury without it."

"Just tell her you walked into a door. That's what _I'd_ do." McCoy stood and held out his hand, and Spock took it. "That or beaned it on a bulkhead."

An eyebrow. "Your estimation of her powers of perception is lacking."

McCoy chuckled. "Guess so. You're a terrible liar." He put his hands on his hips. "If it helps, have them beam us directly to sickbay. You'll be in, patched up, and out before she even knows. Heck, we might even have time for a _vis-ner-kulas_ rematch."

"I doubt that." Spock reached for his comm and flipped it open. "Spock to transporter room. Two to beam directly to sickbay."

"Stand by for transport," a woman's voice answered.

"Thank you." Spock closed the comm and turned to McCoy, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Dr. McCoy?"

"Mmm. Yeah?"

"Despite my usual inclination towards the logical, I must confess no small amount of relief that you..." He swallowed. "That you followed your _heart_ in this instance, rather than your mind."

 _Well, now..._ McCoy ran a finger down his bottom lip. He put an arm around the first officer's shoulders. "That makes two of us, Spock."


	13. Murder

The loud crash of thunder made Leonard jerk upwards in bed. _What-huh?!_ He pressed the palms of both hands against the soft sheets, eyes screwed tightly shut. A bitter, minty taste filled his mouth. _Did I brush my teeth last night, or is that what passes for an aftertaste? Ugh…_ He reached up to wipe beads of sweat off his face, only to feel tiny droplets coat the back of his hand, cooling in the early morning breeze. _Where am I again? Right…Murajai. Clubbing with Jim. Where_ did _he get off to, anyway?_

McCoy slid over in the large bed until his legs dangled over the edge. As he did, the events of the evening before started to return to him. Phila Camunae I was the first planet in its system, but far enough away from the primary that it had the perfect climate; stable all year round with the occasional warmer than normal summer that attracted visitors from all over the Milky Way. Each continent specialized in offering some aspect of the tourist experience. Waciala, for instance, was known for its beautiful forests and hiking trails, while Salaquistro's blue ice caves attracted scientists and civilians alike. There was something for everyone.

McCoy, for his part, had planned to do some solo backpacking in the Jocido desert. _Just me and a pocket , and a first aid kit. In case._ Unfortunately, he had been overruled by the vast majority of the crew, who had opted for something a little more civilized. _Can't believe Jim actually held a_ vote _._ The captain had explained by saying he didn't want everybody getting scattered all over the planet when they only had a three day stopover. Somehow, McCoy doubted that; he'd seen the way Kirk's eyes had lit up when he'd heard that She Alta was playing a live concert at Qualko's Theorem.

Five years ago, the Philaean singer had burst onto the pop music scene with a hauntingly beautiful voice and looks to match. Coal black hair, smoky hazel eyes and a china doll face that made her appear years younger than she was. To McCoy, she'd seemed like a fragile wisp that could blow away at any moment. He'd wondered if she was getting enough to eat. _Somebody feed that poor girl a hamburger already…_

He'd considered remaining on board the _Enterprise_ instead, but one glare from Nurse Bartlett had changed his mind rather swiftly. _That woman could make a Klingon cry._ "I've checked the shift logs," she'd explained in her harsh Brooklyn accent, "and of the available off-duty time you've been allotted over the past month, you've only taken 13%."

He'd crossed his arms over his chest. "Come on, Diane. You _know_ it's been busy around here. First, we had those interns from the University of Okur, New Toronto, visiting sickbay to learn about our triage methods, then that impromptu conference with the Thab Meera, _and_ the radiation leak at the Beta Chi Processing Center - we _needed_ all hands on deck." Idly, he'd begun to fiddle with an aural probe, switching it on and off until she snatched it from his hand and placed it in a bin with other items that needed sterilization or charging.

She set the bin atop a wheeled cart and beckoned an orderly to take it away, then leaned back against the biobed, leveling him with a gaze that made him feel as though he'd stolen from the cookie jar. "Leonard, you need the rest. I don't want you doing a faceplant into somebody's abdominal cavity or having a nervous breakdown at the next senior staff meeting." Her features softened briefly, only to be replaced by a firm stare. "So help me, I'll spike your morning coffee with sorimlithine myself if that's what it takes for you to cool it."

 _No thanks_. He'd been given the potent drug once when recovering from severe phaser burns. For a week, he'd been in a daze, barely able to remember his own name. "Don't you dare," he warned her, wagging his finger in her face. "I guess I could go down there for a bit, see what's what."

"That's the spirit. You'll have a blast." Bartlett's mouth turned up at the corners ever so slightly. "I remember me and Neil went there for our honeymoon. Came back sunburned and pickled."

McCoy rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Neil…was he your first husband or your second? I can never keep track."

"Third, actually." The woman's dry laugh reminded McCoy of a cheese grater. "Lost him to a Deltan accountant."

"Wow. Sorry about that."

Bartlett winced. "Don't be. It's not what you're thinking. She caught him breaking into her floor vault and put a hole through his cranium." The nurse shook her head sadly. "What a way to go." The chime of a touchscreen nearby caught her attention, and she scanned it with her eyes, then tapped the screen once with one hot pink nail polish-covered finger. "Just promise me you won't come back until you've spent at least two days there. Capisce?"

"Aye, aye, sir," McCoy mock-saluted her, standing at attention.

She waved her hand dismissively. "Enough already. There's the door. No last-minute checking on Lieutenant Tunstall's rash, either. That's what she gets for playing 'touch the unknown flower'," the nurse tsked, turning to confer with Dr. Weiss, a fair-haired radiologist who'd just transferred from Starbase 3. _Husband number four, perhaps?_ McCoy had mused before heading for the exit.

After a quick shower, he'd changed into a pair of denim slacks and a button-down olive green cotton shirt and headed to Shuttlebay with the rest of the crew taking shore leave. The shuttle flight itself had been short and uneventful, except for a bit of turbulence, and by the time they had landed, McCoy had actually begun to convince himself that maybe this wouldn't be such a bad idea. _Drinks and a show, maybe a bit of dinner afterwards, then a nice, long sleep without the possibility of double shifts or distress calls interrupting my on Earth. Or, should I say, heaven on Phila Camunae I._

From the landing port, it was only a two minute walk to Murajai's downtown. Jim, looking decidedly uncaptain-like in a pair of canvas shorts, a red and brown striped polo shirt, and sandals, had talked of nothing else but the She Alta concert, which, ironically, he'd managed to snag two VIP tickets to by virtue of his status as a Starfleet captain. "…but I think her best song is definitely, 'Zero'. Most of her fans prefer 'Can I Come', and that's awesome, too, but 'Zero' has a better music video." He'd stepped in front of McCoy, positioning the fingers of both hands in a square shape, defining the borders of an imaginary display screen. "See, she's standing against this black background under a black light, and all of a sudden these white and orange glittery things begin to fall from the sky-"

McCoy had pushed down on Kirk's arm with one hand. "Come on, Jim, you're blocking traffic." As if to make his point, two Philaeans ducked around on their left side, their hips almost kissing the stucco wall of a café as they brushed by the two officers. "Yeah, I know, she's unreal. You've only mentioned that like, what, four hundred and twenty-two times already?" He moved down the sidewalk briskly, Kirk following close behind.

"Not even close. Try 47." The captain stopped to check his teeth in the window glass. "According to Curry."

Leonard smiled. "Still trying to drag Howard out of the stone age, musically speaking?"

Kirk rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. "Kicking and screaming. But he won't bite." He slung one arm over McCoy's shoulder. "Now, you, on the other hand…"

McCoy frowned. "Me what?" Before Jim could elaborate, he held up one finger to shush him. "Aw, Jim, now look, I'm as progressive as the next guy, but I draw the line at Philaean pop. Can't make heads or tails of all thatnoise _."Besides, I have a sneaking suspicion you're interested in more than her music…_

Kirk rolled his eyes. "That 'noise' won her the Jybeca Award for best female artist _three_ years running. Not to mention that her music has been used in holoprogram soundtracks from here to Ree Major. She's _legit_ , Bones." They stopped at a crosswalk, waiting for the signal to change. "The real deal. You'll never get another chance like this again."

Blue became orange, and they stepped off the curb, passing in front of several ground vehicles. "As I recall, that's exactly what _I_ said when I invited you and Carol to that Kereb concert on Mazulis."

Kirk made a face. "And what was that? Three guys beating coconut shells ."

"It was _tribal_ , Jim. Songs inspired by the dances of the Kerebi healers." McCoy smacked his forehead with one hand. "Oh, I forgot, you slept through xenoanthropology."

"I slept through xeno I spent trying to figure out the drag coefficient that would enable me to land a paper plane in Cadet Selwyn's beehive." Kirk drew his hand back and forth twice before miming that very action.

McCoy rolled his eyes. "How mature of you."

They had continued on in much this same manner past the various shops and restaurants before boarding a light rail car for the entertainment district. It was only after they disembarked two doors down from Orange Theory that McCoy realized, like it or not, he was going to be attending the She Alta concert after all.

Kirk pumped a fist up in the air. "You are _not_ going to be sorry, Bones." He grinned. "Come on, wipe that nasty look off your face. I need a wingman, not the boogeyman," he added, stretching his arms out in front of him and walking stiffly, his face contorted like some creature that lurked under the bed.

McCoy puffed out a breath of air. "No, what you need is a _chaperone_. I can't believe you talked me into this. My ears will be bleeding for hours." They bypassed the line and headed for the back door, which was guarded by a shrimp of a guy who looked more like a librarian than a bouncer. Kirk whipped out their passes and the guard scanned them with a stylus-like device, then disabled the door's force field and allowed them to pass. "So just where _is_ the VIP section, anyway?"

"Up front." Sure enough, a partitioned area sat directly before a raised platform. A quiet murmur ran through the small crowd that had already gathered inside the club's main room while the musicians and sound and lighting technicians set up onstage. Kirk waved their passes under a reader and a waist-high gate let them through. "Just sit anywhere."

 _Anywhere? How about the chair in my office?_ But he'd remained silent as they'd settled into their seats and waited for the show to begin, turning in his chair to gaze out at the crowd. A few faces he recognized from the _Enterprise_ , including an in the last stages of Huthonian flu Pavel Chekov, who was trying not to cough on his companion, Engineering Technician Lethib, a pretty Andorian female who dwarfed the navigator by a good five inches. _I oughta give him hell for leaving his sickbed early, but a) he's not contagious, and b), the chances of me being able to take him to task in this crowd are slim to none_.

A well-placed jab in his right shoulder from Kirk turned his attention back to the stage just as the opening strains of music began to play. She Alta sat on a high, round stool in the center of the musicians, eyes ringed with kohl. To McCoy's surprise, the first song of her set, ' _Maybe',_ wasn't half-bad. From what he could make out, it spoke of the possibility of love arising between two very different people. _Okay, not the most original of themes, but still…_ Kirk sat spellbound as she dropped to one knee and waved her hand over the audience, daring them to believe that _"maybe tomorrow we'll find a way_ ". Her fingers brushed the top of McCoy's head, mussing his hair slightly. As she pulled her hand away, a soft tinkling sound drew his eye towards a small charm bracelet. Unique among the silver charms was a teardrop-shaped jade crystal.

Kirk gaped at him, mouth hanging open. "Oh. Wow. She. Just. ."

"Big. ." Even as he said it, however, Leonard felt a tingling in his scalp. _What the deuce?_

"Can I?…" The captain lifted his hand, lowering it towards McCoy's head, who swatted it away. "Hey."

"Concert. Shh." But McCoy barely noticed the rest of the music; his gaze remained fixed upon the lithe singer as she perched once more upon her seat. _She really is unreal…_

Head in his hands, Leonard realized for the first time that his skull was pounding in rhythm with the thunder. He rubbed his eyes and blinked several times. _You're on break, Leonard. No duty shift. Back to bed with you._ Sliding back under the sheets, he grabbed the edge and pulled it up to his chest. _Never mind the windows or the rain. I could use some cool air._ Punching his pillow with one hand, he rolled over.

And stared straight into the blank, unseeing eyes of a newly familiar face.

 _What the hell?!_

She Alta lay supine, head lolling against the pillow. Her face, scrubbed of the thick makeup she'd worn at the concert, was deathly pale, a flush of blue coloring her waxy cheeks. In the dim light of early morning, she looked more childlike than ever, perhaps aided by the single braid that dangled down her left side like an ebony rope. McCoy scrambled across the mattress and pressed two fingers to her slender throat. _No pulse_. Looking closer, he realized it was bent at a slight angle. _Broken_. _Damn_. _Wait…how the heck did she get_ here?

A chime from the door made his head snap up as it slid open with a swish. Five security officers burst through the hotel room door, weapons drawn, barking at the doctor in Philaean.

Leonard's hands shot up in the air. His heart raced with fear. _This is_ not _good._ "I-no. I just found her. I didn't-" He backed up quickly, his knees sliding across the bed until he slid off the edge and onto the floor, barking one shin against the bed frame. "I didn't kill her!" _I can top that; I don't even know why she's here!_

Either not versed in Federation standard or not particularly caring, the guards darted around the bed and hauled McCoy up onto his feet roughly. He considered struggling, but one look at their weapons knocked all the fight out of him. _Try anything funny and there'll be a crater where my head used to be…_

He let them escort him out of the room, never once looking back at the disarray, even though it might have given him clues to the events of the evening. As they headed down the hall, several sleepy hotel customers peered out their doors, giving him looks that ranged from mild interest in what was going on to annoyance with having been woken up by the clamor of his arrest. _Yeah, go ahead, stare at me. Like this is the first time police have ever been here…_

An elevator took them to the tastefully furnished lobby, which was guarded by more officers, some of whom were setting up a force field perimeter to prevent onlookers from crowding the scene. What looked to be several members of the planet's media were clustered outside, shouting questions to the officers at the door. One of them leaned forward and aimed a small image capture device towards McCoy. Instinctively, he ducked his head to avoid being photographed. He pressed his lips together as bile rose in his throat. _No. Not here. Not_ now _._

The officers exchanged words briefly and led him through two rooms to a small back door that opened out into an alley. A small flight-capable police vehicle waited there, and McCoy was pressed against the car's window and cuffed, then pushed into the back seat, which smelled vaguely of stale baked goods. _I will not barf…_

Throughout the ride, his thoughts once more turned to his fellow crew mates. He bumped his hip against the side of the cruiser, but heard only the sound of flesh striking metal. _No communicator. I must've lost it. Why can I never find that thing when I need it?_

After being booked and processed at a small law enforcement station, McCoy was placed in a holding cell pending a hearing. At least, he was fairly certain that was what awaited him; nobody had given him a translator. His clothes had been confiscated (mercifully, they had allowed him to change in a washroom stall); he now wore a pale gray one-piece jumpsuit that closed with something akin to Velcro. In lieu of socks, the prison garb had feet coverings. _If I wasn't facing a murder rap, I'd laugh. I haven't worn footies since I was six…_

He had paced the length and breadth of the cell about eleven times, his covered feet scuffing along the floor. The air was cold, yet oddly humid and smelled metallic. _Like blood_ … _no, don't think about that._ Despite the cell's apparent relative cleanliness, he was loath to touch anything. _God only knows how the last occupant treated this place…_

Tired of pacing, he slumped down onto a recessed bench in the wall and began to make plans for when he returned to the _Enterprise_. _First, a nice hot , a cocktail of prophylactic , something to eat. Fourth, kill Jim for talking me into the whole thing._

"Bones!"

McCoy looked up from his musings and saw Jim and Nyota approaching his cell, flanked by a disinterested guard. Kirk, looking rather tired, still wore his casual clothes from the night before, along with a grey uniform jacket, the insignia clearly visible. A shadow of grief marred his was wearing her duty uniform and carried a PADD tucked under her arm. Lines of concern creased her forehead.

Leonard crossed the floor until he was standing in front of them. "Well, it's about _time_ somebody wondered where I got to. I've been collecting mold and cobwebs while you-"

Kirk held up a hand to silence him. "While _I've_ been searching all over the entertainment district for you until your face appeared on a TV screen in the _seventeenth_ bar I hit, then trying to _simultaneously_ find your exact location, determine the facts of the case against you, _and_ contact Starfleet Command and JAG for assistance. _That's_ what I've been doing, Bones. So _don't_ give me that," he growled, punctuating each word with a finger jab.

McCoy held both hands up, palms facing forward. "Okay, okay. You had a rough night, too. Keep in mind _I'm_ the one in the hoosegow."

Kirk's firm look changed to one of confusion and mild amusement. "'Hoosegow'?" They shared a weak chuckle, and even Uhura smiled. The captain turned to the guard and spoke to him briefly in Philaean. The man nodded and pressed a button on the side of the wall, causing the cell's field to develop an amber glow, and the two officers stepped inside. Seemingly satisfied that McCoy wasn't going to attack his friends, the guard ambled down the hallway back in the direction he had come.

McCoy offered them the use of the bench seat, taking up a position against the near wall. "Look, guys, whatever they told you, I didn't _do_ it. Hell, I don't even remember leaving the venue with her, or anyone, for that matter…but look, I'm sorry, Jim. She deserved better. Justice"

"Yeah, I know." Kirk rubbed his eyes. "One in a billion."

"Which is why it's important that the _real_ killer is found." Nyota crossed one leg over the other. "What's the last thing you _do_ remember?"

He chewed on his lower lip, trying to recall. "She Alta was finishing the last song of her set, something about daydreams-"

"'-Is This Happening." Kirk interjected, though his gaze was directed towards a spot on the wall instead of McCoy.

"Yeah, that was it. You were asking me what I wanted to drink and I told you, a Rhuvan's Rings with a twist of lime. You went off to get it, and…" McCoy kneaded his forehead with one hand, scrunching his eyes shut briefly. "Funny, really. You weren't gone that long. I remember thinking you'd be waiting in line for ages when suddenly somebody pressed a drink into my hand." He pointed at Kirk. "Figured it was you."

Kirk shook his head. "Couldn't have been. It took me twenty minutes to reach the bar, five more to get our orders." He looked up. "What next?"

McCoy closed his eyes again. "I took a sip of the drink, and it wasn't at all what I wanted. Kind of sour, like grapefruit. I figured you'd given me your order instead and I turned to find you and switch, but when I called your name, my mouth was all dry. So I took another mouthful and tried again, but…" He swallowed hard, remembering the uncomfortable feeling. "…suddenly, I felt weak, fatigued. I called, but nothing came out. My knees buckled…and then there was a hand under my arm, supporting me. I looked back towards the person, and then…" He blinked. "Everything went black. That's it. That's all I recall."

"Somebody drugged you?" Nyota leaned forward.

"Yeah. Yeah, that makes sense." McCoy pushed away from the wall. "Look, Jim, they took blood and urine samples as part of my intake processing. See if you can get them to give you any for sickbay to analyze."

"Will do." Kirk agreed. Suddenly, his features darkened. "Uh, Bones…was that the extent of their sample gathering?"

McCoy frowned. "What are you getting at? If the drug was still in my system, it'd show up-"

Kirk's gaze dropped and his cheeks flushed. "I mean, did they take anything else?"

 _Oh._ McCoy realized instantly what Jim was asking. "They can get my DNA from my blood and match it to 'anything else'. But to my knowledge, we did _not_ get to know each other well before her death."

"You don't know-"

"To _my_ knowledge." McCoy snapped. "I just met the girl, Jim. She's a celebrity, she touched my hair, I felt a zing, and, so, what? Let's play house for a night?"

Kirk shrugged. "It happens, Leonard. Look, we don't know how the drug affected you. Sure, you blacked out, but isn't it true that some people can act lucid under the influence when they're actually not?"

"Yes. It's possible, Jim. Maybe I exhibited some questionable judgment, but I. Did. Not. Kill. Her."

The captain nodded. "I know, Bones. I know."

Leonard's shoulders slumped. "Did they at least tell you when my hearing is?"

Uhura reached for his hand and squeezed it. "Yes. After the young woman's autopsy. The bad news is, this being a holiday weekend, it won't be performed for two more days." She set the tablet down on the bench and looked him in the eyes. "You'll get through this, Doctor. But this might help." She tapped the PADD with one finger and it began to glow. "As you don't speak Philaean, I brought you a translator so you can communicate with the guards and the court." She handed him the tablet.

McCoy studied the screen for a moment, flicking through the various programs in the icon menu. "Menu's a little crowded for _just_ a translator, isn't it?"

Kirk and Uhura exchanged a look, then grinned at McCoy. "I figured you had a right to know what was being said about the case," she explained. "I've managed to tie in Phila Camunae's main media feeds, as well as a direct line between here and the _Enterprise_."

"Thanks." A small icon caught his eye. "And the Tetris?"

Kirk raised his hand. "Guilty." He tapped his right temple, then Bones's . "Gotta keep that mind sharp, you know."

McCoy set the PADD down on the floor. "Thanks. For everything, guys, I mean it." Already, he felt better. _We're going to beat this. But most importantly, somebody's going to get what they deserve._ Nyota drew him into a hug, leaving her other arm open to include Kirk, who reluctantly joined their small huddle.

A moment later, she withdrew, allowing Kirk to place both hands on McCoy's shoulders and look him square in the eye. "We're going to get you out of here, Bones."

"I know." _You're one heck of a friend, Jim,_ he finished as Kirk walked Nyota towards the cell door and pressed a button on the wall to summon the guard. _All of you are._

 _If I stay in here any longer, I'll break all the records…_

Leonard tapped the arrow icons rapidly to pivot the small shape around, then pressed the middle button to drop it into position. It had been two long days since Jim and Nyota's visit, and there were only so many rounds of Tetris one could play before your eyes started to cross.

Two days of four walls and three square meals, all consisting of varying shades of green and flavors ranging from wax to turpentine. _Why couldn't you have snuck me in a replicator?_

Two nights of nightmares where he once again saw She Alta's pale, limp corpse, and himself bending over her, not to check for a pulse, but to strangle her to death with his bare- _No! It_ didn't _happen that way._

At times, he was tempted to feel sorry for himself, but then he thought of her. _She must have family somewhere…her poor parents. They must have been devastated…and her fans, too. I bet they'd all like to kill me right about now…can't say as I blame them._ A musical tone from the PADD alerted him to the fact that he'd allowed the screen to fill and thus ended the game.

He exited the screen and tapped the log record button. "Chief medical officer's log, supplemental; if I have to spend one more minute in this facility, so help me, I'll-" He paused, letting his breathing even out. "Delete entry." McCoy changed tabs and checked the news feed Nyota set up. Though he had spent most of his browsing time earlier flipping through the entertainment reports and local news for updates on his case, to no avail, he was weary of reading various other celebrities' grief-stricken reactions to the young pop star's death. The images they posted showed a free-spirited, fun-loving girl who danced to her own drumbeat.

He briefly glanced at the sports feed, then spent half an hour meandering through tourism and lifestyle articles. There was a food festival happening this weekend on Murajai's Pliaco Beach. McCoy scrolled through images posted by various individuals on social media. Some of the eats available made his mouth water. _Wish I were there…_

One image showed several tourists loitering on the boardwalk, enjoying the noonday sun and the cool beach breeze. A couple were taking turns wiping sauce stains off the face of a happy toddler, while an older couple sampled barbecued avian wings coated in a dark purple glaze. A small group crowded around a bearded man who was playing a woodwind instrument, hands raised in the air. Sunlight blinked off the wrist of one of the onlookers, glimmering green-

 _Wait a second_. McCoy zoomed in on the image until the person's slender wrist filled the screen. Upon it was the very same bracelet that had tinkled as She Alta touched his head. Jewelry that had been conspicuously absent from her corpse.

A prickly feeling began at the back of his head. _But that's crazy…no. She's famous; I bet everybody's got one. You could probably buy a duplicate in any souvenir store, or at her shows._ Yet even as he tried to convince himself, he scrolled the image downward until the wearer's profile came into view. Her face was void of cosmetics, and her hair was done up into a messy bun, but the shape of her nose and her hazel eyes were unmistakable. _That's her. But it_ can't _be. She's dead…Or is she?_

McCoy checked the time code on the image. It had only been posted twenty minutes ago. _She might still be there. I know it isn't her…but I need to know for sure._ He switched tabs and tapped the hotline button.

After a moment, Nyota's face appeared on the screen. "Hello, Doctor." She leaned forward. "Is something wrong?"

" not. Listen, I'm sending you an image of somebody I need you to find."

"Who?"

"The murder victim."

Nyota frowned. "Isn't she in the morgue?"

"No, I don't think she is."

 _Sweet release…_

9 hours later, McCoy stepped out of the washroom, dressed in his casual attire of two days previous and carrying a folded bundle of prison clothes. As he handed it to the guard on duty, he looked down the hall and saw Kirk and Uhura approaching him. "Well, it's about time. I was starting to wonder if I'd have to hitch a ride."

Kirk chuckled. "Hey, it takes time to grease the wheels of justice. Besides, I'm a busy guy." They turned back down the corridor, McCoy following after them. Kirk stopped to hold open a door and both went through ahead of him.

They continued towards an elevator and slipped in. McCoy leaned against the wall, PADD in his hand. "Now, was I right? Nobody ever tells me anything around here except, 'eat', 'sleep', 'shut up'."

Nyota tapped the floor button and the doors shut. "Yup. It _was_ her at the beach."

 _I knew it._ "Really? Then who the heck was I supposed to have killed? She doesn't have a twin sister, by any chance?" _They say everyone has a double,_ he recalled, heart lurching.

"Nope. You're going to love this, Bones." Kirk rubbed the corner of one eye. "That body you found in your bed? Not actually a body. Not even Philaean. A duplicate. A very realistic duplicate, mind you. So realistic you wouldn't have been able to tell the difference without examining it closely."

The doctor rolled his eyes. "When could I have done that? I didn't bring my medkit on shore leave, and between waking up with a corpse next to me and being dragged out of bed in the middle of the night, I didn't exactly have time to perform an autopsy."

Kirk sucked in a quick breath. "Long story short, you were doped to the point of unconsciousness, taken to the hotel and put in a bed next to a fake person."

McCoy let out a long sigh and raked a hand through his hair. "But _why_?Why _me?_ "

Kirk shrugged. "Dunno. Near as I can figure, a, you're an off-worlder, and b, tons of people saw her showing interest in you. Face it, you had _prime suspect_ written all over you." He passed McCoy a granola bar. "Seems your frame-up job was all part of a plan to televise the trial for a high-profile celebrity's murder. You'd be called to the stand, of course. Music, sex, murder; the viewing public'd eat it up." He placed one hand on McCoy's shoulder. "And then, all would be revealed as the drama it actually was." The door opened and the other two stepped out. "Unfortunately for them, they picked somebody who had considerable resources at their disposal, not some poor wayfarer."

McCoy gripped the railing, seething with rage. _A television drama? Are you kidding me?_ He felt humiliated. Used. Betrayed." ." He unwrapped the granola bar, taking a large bite to give his mouth something to chew, and joined them in the narrow hall, his footsteps pounding against the tiled floor.

"You really ought to thank She Alta, you know," Uhura continued as they walked through two more sets of doors, the police station lobby, past several officers and criminals waiting to be processed. _Good luck._ Another set of doors flanked by security scanners and they finally walked out into the brilliant sunshine. "If she hadn't gotten tired of being cooped up and decided to sneak out of her hotel room, you'd still be a jailbird."

McCoy squinted in the light. "Yeah, well, I guess I owe her _that_ much." He stuffed his hands in his pockets and glanced over Nyota's head towards Kirk. The captain shuffled along, head down, kicking at a piece of stray garbage. "Something wrong, Jim?"

Kirk looked up, hands stuffed in his pockets. "Nah, not really. It's just…well, now, with all that happened…I don't know, the magic is gone. No mystery. She kinda killed it." He let out a long sigh.

McCoy chuckled. "Aw. Poor Jim. Just be glad it's the _only_ thing that's dead. If that stuff they gave me had been any stronger, it'd be 'lights out, Leonard.' What _did_ they give me, anyway?" He finished the small granola bar and tossed the plain silver wrapper in a trash can. _Three points. I still got it._

Kirk made a face. "Not funny. You can relax, though. According to your lab results, all you got was a mild derivative of sorimlithine. Nothing serious."

 _Really? Guess someone beat you to it, Diane._ McCoy yawned and stretched as the cool breeze wafted the scent of blossoming _espar_ in his direction. "I am so looking forward to a loooong nap."

"Don't go beddy-bye just yet, Bones." Kirk waved three pieces of paper in front of his face.

"Why not?" McCoy cracked his neck, feeling the tension of the last couple of days release just a little. "What are those?"

Kirk smiled and raised his arms over his head in a pose reminiscent of some martial arts move. "Three tickets to Varpaneah."

"Vaharpa-what sit?" McCoy cocked his head sideways. "Is it catching?" He covered his mouth and nose with one hand.

"Varpaneah," Kirk corrected, his voice raising an octave. "I can't _believe_ you've never heard of it. It's this totally awesome light and fight show. The stage has this antigravity generator and-"

McCoy held up one hand. "Oh not. I just avoided a disaster, and now you want to drag me-"

"-Kidding. They're our passenger shuttle tickets." Kirk handed Nyota her ticket, stuck one in McCoy's shirt pocket and kept one for himself. "Even I wouldn't do that to you after what just happened."

McCoy punched Kirk in the arm. "Oh, yes, you would." He passed Kirk the PADD. "By the way, guess who has the new high score?"

Jim shook his head and groaned. "I knew I should've given you 'Operation' instead."

"What good would that do?" McCoy put his hands on his hips. "I can't remember the last time I performed a funny bone-ectomy," he continued sarcastically.

"Exactly. It'd have been good practice. Besides, I thought you had yours removed years ago." They came to the edge of the street just as a bus pulled up and boarded the vehicle.

"If you two keep bickering like that, I'm going to ask you to remove my eardrums," Uhura muttered, flashing her bus pass in front of the reader and moving to a window seat facing sideways.

Kirk did likewise and sat down on the seat across from her, crossing his arms over his chest. "Wouldn't that make your job rather difficult?"

"Worth it," McCoy and Uhura replied simultaneously. McCoy patted his pockets before locating his pass and scanning it. As he took a position in the aisle next to a pole, he could hear Uhura bickering with Kirk unashamedly, for all the world like he was her bratty brother instead of her captain. He closed his eyes and smiled. _Wouldn't trade these guys for anything…_


	14. Nuisance

**Nuisance**

Leonard fought the urge to reach up and wipe away the trickle of sweat that traveled down the back of his neck, bound for his spine. _That's what moisture-wicking undershirts are for._ Instead, he fingered the hem of his dress uniform jacket where it overlapped the waistband of his pants. To his right, Jim stood, similarly clad, eyes cast forward through the glass window of the observation room. His hat lay slightly cockeyed on his head, as though he'd grabbed it at the last moment before leaving his quarters. It gave him a relaxed look that belied the occasion. Spock, on his left, displayed no such affectations; the Vulcan's immobile stance was void of creases and nervous tics. _Kinda like an action figure…minus the action. Is he even breathing?_

He returned his gaze back to the shuttlebay. It had been evacuated of personnel as per protocol when accepting a craft. Further, the _Hamnask._ had presented the peculiar problem of being rather wide from starboard to port; its flight wings were non-collapsible, and it was a personal transport craft, not built for complicated maneuvers. As such, it was decided that the ship would be piloted towards the bay doors, stopping just outside in order to allow tractor beams to rotate it into a suitable landing position before pulling the ship inside. _Awful lot of trouble, if you ask me…_

* * *

Scotty had thought so, too, and made no secret of his opinions during a senior staff dinner two nights ago. He'd cornered Leonard in the bathroom in between appetizers and the main course and launched into a no-punches-pulled complaint session. The doctor had been trying to extricate a stubborn chunk of _jelsar_ bean from between his teeth when Scott had thumped into the room and headed for the sink basin next to his, tapped the water temperature selector and begun splashing cold water into his face by the handful.

McCoy leaned towards the mirror and squinted, pulling his lower lip downward. "Long day?"

Scott's hands stilled under the running water. He glanced over at McCoy with red-rimmed eyes. "Is there any other kind?" Leaning his hip on the sink, one hand on the counter, he used the other to poke McCoy in the shoulder, hard. "Why do you doctors have to make things so blamed _difficult_ for us?"

McCoy winced, grabbing his arm, then began to chuckle. "I'd say it's about 50/50, wouldn't you? Most of my day-to-day patients come from _your_ department, after all." He licked his teeth and spat into the sink. "So what have we done this time?"

Scott sighed. "All right, to be fair, it wasn't you, _exactly_." He pressed his palms over his eyes. "It's those blasted Kwisigh. I've been up all bloody night, tryin' to decipher the three- count 'em - _three_ sets of schematics they sent me," he complained, beginning to count on one hand. "The first one wasn't so bad - a wee two passenger pod. But turns out _that's_ one of the ship's emergency evac crafts. Then, they apologize profusely and send me another, which would be great, except _that's_ the class's original design, sans customizations.

Finally, with only a couple of days to spare, they _finally_ send me a scan of the Grand Physiter's personal shuttle. But guess what? All the measurements and design details are written in formal Kwisighi rather than the vernacular. So I call in linguistics for a consult, and after six hours, we finally manage to translate the specs. You should have seen the thing. Crescent-shaped with a round biscuit in the middle." He shook his head. "Realizing this is going to be quite a pickle, I tell them they're just going to have to beam over. No buts about it." A sigh. "No problem, right? We're going to be in the Hantid system for three days - long enough to nip in, share a drink and a laugh or two, and nip right back again. Then, an hour ago, the captain gets a priority call, saying the ship's experiencing difficulties with its impulse engine and could we please pick them up and ferry them home _noo_ , ship and all?" He spread both hands apart. "Of course he says yes. It's not _his_ bloody problem."

McCoy arched an eyebrow. "Maybe not, but it's _his_ bloody'ship. I don't think he likes whiplash any more than you do." He leaned towards Scott, cupping one hand to his mouth. "Wait 'til he has a couple of drinks down the hatch. You'll hear _plenty_."

Scott smiled thinly. "You might have a point there." He turned and headed for the door slowly, one hand stuffed in his pocket, then paused and turned towards McCoy again, eyes downcast. "Uhh…naturally, as I'll be overseeing the docking process, I won't be able to make me appointment that day-"

"-so we'll just re-schedule it for _tomorrow_ instead." McCoy crossed his arms over his chest, lips curving upward, giving the engineer a sideways look. "Isn't that what you were about to say, Scotty?"

Scott's smile disappeared. "Well, not _exactly_ …"

Leonard shrugged. "That loose beam knocked you out cold for _ten minutes._ But if you want to skip the follow-up, be my guest." He threw his hands up in the air. "Just don't come crying to me if you drop a few percentiles on your next IQ eval-"

"All right, all right." Scott backed towards the door. "I'll see if I can carve oot half an hour." As he exited the room, he mumbled something under his breath about " _bloody doctors think they run the universe_ ". McCoy grinned and shook his head, startling when his hand pressed against the selector, sending a jet of cold water spurting into the bowl. _If I did, I certainly would have seen that coming…_

* * *

Cleared for duty, Montgomery Scott now sat in the bay's traffic control booth supervising a team of tractor beam technicians as they carefully guided the _Hamnask_ into position one foot at a time. The maneuver was not unlike some of the surgical procedures he'd taken part in, albeit on a grander scale. McCoy tugged at his collar and turned to Jim. The captain blinked several times, eyes still locked on the craft. "It'll fit, Jim."

"So far, so good," Kirk agreed, nodding once.

McCoy's lip curled. "Course, it helps that they're coming in nice and easy, not hurtlin' in at breakneck speed."

Kirk pivoted sharply. "You mean like I would? _Did_?"

"Didn't say that."

"No, but you were _thinking_ it." He lifted a hand towards the glass. "Besides, once we've enjoyed the obligatory ceremonial dinner, he's _your_ problem." By "he", Kirk was referring to Grand Physiter Beegus, the Kwisighi equivalent of a surgeon general or some such entity. For the next few days, he would be shadowing McCoy in sickbay in the hopes that he could learn from Federation medicine. _I don't know what he expects to discover in less than a week. Most of the breakthroughs we make are the combined result of several minds fueled by raw desperation, sweat, and coffee. Oh, well; maybe we can swap brews…_

"Doctor?" McCoy looked up from his musings to see Kirk's left foot disappearing out the door. Spock was standing next to it now like a sentry."The bay doors are closed and the shuttle has landed. I do believe we should join the captain and the honor guard downstairs."

"Coming." McCoy turned on one heel and headed for the door. Spock waited until he exited the observation room, then pushed away from the wall and followed after him. _What was the point of that? Did you really think I was going to double back and hide in here? Hmm…I guess Vulcans really_ can _read minds…_

They descended into the bay well, their shoes clicking on the floor. From down below, the _Hamnask_ was much more imposing. Scott's earlier assessment of it was fairly accurate; wide curved wings arched backwards around a rounded compartment. Two small twin nacelles were tucked under each wing, while a single, larger one jutted from its back end. _A flying wishbone, basically…_

The honor guard stood at attention on both sides of a disembarking ramp that had been deployed next to the door of the bronze tinted shuttle, their uniforms crisp and clean. McCoy took a position next to Kirk and Spock at the end of the ramp, folding his hands behind his back as the door of the shuttle slid open slowly.

A slate gray uniformed woman backed down out of the craft, arms held out at the sides. _The pilot?_ She paused before them for a moment, her posture ramrod straight. Turning sharply, she lifted both hands to her collar, pulling it open to reveal that her neck was dotted with two rows of nostril-like openings. As she pressed her fingers in alternating patterns, it produced several reedy flute tones. _Born with a bosun's whistle? Or is it a surgical modification? Whatever it is, it's a beautiful sound…_

After a minute, she paused again, then closed her collar over the openings and dropped her hands to their sides. "The Kwisighi Grand Physiter, Highest of Medicos, Phanthippius Mathulios Beegus!" she announced in a loud, clear voice.

From the inside of the craft, the Kwisighi appeared. Like many of his race, he was short of stature and rather plump. _Not exactly the imposing figure his lofty title suggests…_ A large rounded crest arched back over his golden face, tufted with black, sparse hair. Short stubby fingers peeked out from his turquoise blue robe which was embroidered with silver threads. He shot a sour look at the pilot, who managed to keep her composure until he moved past her, after which she stalked back into the craft without a word, presumably to take an inventory of repairs or some such thing.

The Kwisighi bustled past the honor guard, paying them no mind, and came to an abrupt stop at the end of the ramp, nearly bowling over the welcoming committee in the process. "Federation representatives," he began, bowing his head at each of them. "Captain. My thanks to you for your hospitality."

Kirk stepped forward, head dipping in respect. "You're welcome, Grand Physiter. The amenities of the _Enterprise_ and my crew are at your disposal for the duration of your stay." He turned to his companions. "My first officer, Spock, and chief medical officer, Leonard McCoy."

Beegus nodded at Spock and reached for McCoy's hands with both of his. "Ah, yes, my colleague. I look forward to imparting much wisdom I have gained."

"Well, I hope that'll go both ways," McCoy chuckled, nodding his head. "Right?"

A strange expression crossed Beegus' face, as though he'd just tasted something bitter. "Yes…yes, of course." He released McCoy's hands and turned to face Kirk again. "Where am I staying on your great ship, Captain?"

"Lieutenant?" Kirk called, beckoning one of the honor guard to his side. "We have guest quarters all set up for you _and_ your pilot, Doctor. Our hospitality extends to her, too, of course," he finished, mouth set in a firm line. _Attaboy, Jim._ McCoy glanced over Beegus' shoulder towards the _Hamnask's_ door, but the woman was nowhere in sight. _Maybe she's cleaning her spit valve. Or strangling something…_

"Tinnel?" Beegus scoffed, waving a dismissive hand in the shuttle's direction. "She'll be far too busy with the shuttlecraft diagnostics for anything resembling fun. Besides, she has her own quarters near the engine section. But thank you on her behalf," he finished quickly, almost as an afterthought. "Now then, lieutenant," Beegus continued, indicating the shuttle, "I shall require you to bring my laboratory equipment to my quarters immediately. I have much work to complete…"

"Uh…" McCoy held up an index finger. "Begging your pardon, Grand Physiter, but guest quarters aren't exactly set up for lab work."

Spock stepped forward. "The doctor is correct. Our science department possesses several laboratories. I am certain we can adapt one to suit your needs."

Beegus frowned. "Quite unacceptable. My equipment is highly sensitive, and my work requires close attention."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "It is not flammable or explosive, is it? Because that would not be permis-"

The Physiter laughed. "Skies, no! But I cannot have your people running in and out of the room while I work! However," he continued, "Tinnel usually assists me in my experiments. As she is, mm, otherwise occupied, I will need someone else to fill in. Perhaps one of your crewmen?"

Kirk shot McCoy a look. "I'm sure Dr. McCoy can provide you with whatever you need." _Excluding your opinions, Bones,_ he silently mouthed. _Remember, he's a big shot. Don't blow this._

Leonard sighed. "Sure thing. I'll send someone over as soon as you're settled." _And may God have mercy on their soul…_

"Excellent. Come, lieutenant," Beegus beckoned, fairly sprinting up the ramp, his robes flapping in his wake. Lt. Hearst followed behind at a more sedate pace, as though putting off his duties for as long as possible.

"At ease," Kirk dismissed the rest of the honor guard, who headed for the Shuttlebay's exit. Once they had gone, he crossed his arms over his chest, lips pursed, and faced the two officers. "First impressions?"

"I find him…somewhat aggravating," Spock admitted, head cocked to one side.

McCoy snorted. " _Somewhat_? He's downright _rude_. Add to that he has no respect for women. I feel sorry for Tinnel. Sounds like she's his Jill of all trades." They turned onto the laneway, passing two parked cargo lifts and a refrigerated storage unit. "And you want me to sic him on one of my people?"

Kirk took off his hat and raked a hand through his hair. "Like it or not, he's a high official of the Kwisighi, and as the only Federation and Starfleet representatives in this sector, we are obligated to kiss his butt." He grinned at McCoy. "Not literally, of course."

"Indeed. I have never encountered a race that expected _that_ level of patronage." Spock made a face. "But I agree, we must afford him every consideration… within reason."

Leonard rolled his eyes. "I'll do what I can, Spock. But for the love of Pete, don't ask me to _like_ him, doctor or no doctor," he finished as they rounded the corner.

* * *

 _Ding!_

McCoy's right arm tingled as it drooped over the side of the bed. _Damn it, just when I'm finally having a_ good _dream…_ For the past week, he'd woken up several times re-living the horrors of the Gorn incident. Thanks to a self-prescribed glass of fine whiskey, the claws, teeth and shadows had finally retreated, replaced with the cries of seagulls and a sunset on a private beach, coupled with a barrel of the self-same beverage that had inspired the reverie. The taste of it lingered yet on his tongue. _Who dares disturb my slumber?_ He stuck out his tongue. _I'm a doctor, not an ogre…_

He rolled over and stood up, sliding his feet into a pair of slippers. "Come on in," he called, stretching his right arm over his head and tugging on it with his left hand. The increased blood flow relieved the tingly feeling and woke up his brain cells. As the door slid open, he recognized his nighttime visitor as the woman he'd assigned to aid the Grand Physiter. "Louise?"

"I can't do it anymore, Doctor. I just can't." Medical technician Louise Engstrom pushed into the room and plopped down into an armchair to the left of the door, wincing as her arm made contact with the chair's. "I know he's a VIP- is that the good stuff?" she asked, reaching for McCoy's abandoned glass and bottle, pouring herself a mouthful with one hand, and downing it.

"Whoa, slow down, Louise," McCoy cautioned, holding both hands palms out. "Thought you were a confirmed teetotaler."

"Not tonight, I'm not," she sighed, reaching for the bottle again.

McCoy shuffled forward in his pajamas and took the bottle from her, setting it down on the other side of the table. "Slow down and tell me what happened," he urged her, taking a seat on the other side of the table.

"What _didn't_?" The redhead squeezed her eyes shut and yawned. "Sorry. It's just, that _doctor_ has been running me ragged. Get me this, fetch that, run those tests _again_ because, " _the chemi-florescence concentration doesn't justify such an aberration!"_ " She sank back into the chair. "I'm really starting to miss sickbay, Doc. When I suggested-gently, mind you-that _maybe_ there was something wrong with his technology, he just laughed at me. Said he calibrated it himself, " _you silly girl_ ". His words." Louise ran her tongue along the bottom edge of her top teeth. "I can't do it anymore." She blinked twice, absent-mindedly rubbing her left wrist. A small, swollen purple bruise ran along her inner forearm from the base of her hand upward.

"Hurt much?" McCoy leaned forward and took her wrist in his hands, probing it gently. "He didn't do that to you, did he?" A dark look settled over his features. _So help me, if he did…_

Louise's brow furrowed. "Oh. No," she assured him, "he didn't _hurt_ me. He dropped a glass vial full of contrast fluid on the floor; the sound startled me and I bashed my wrist on the door frame." She blushed. "Didn't hurt at first, but - _ow -_ it really started bothering me after I cleaned up the spill."

McCoy stood up and retrieved a medical kit from a shelf nearby. He flipped on his scanner and ran it along the technician's wrist. "Good news is, it's not broken. I'll give you a pain reliever, and you'll need to rest it for a while. A regen session wouldn't hurt, either." He replaced the scanner and closed the kit. "Which leads me to the better news; I'm pulling you off of Beegus duty, effective immediately."

Louise smiled with relief, revealing a prominent pair of front teeth. "Thanks a million, Doctor. So who's my unlucky replacement going to be?"

"Me." As the tech's eyes widened, McCoy leaned back in his chair. "What? I'm just going back to the original plan, which was to show him how we do things in sickbay. Don't you worry; I'll keep him so busy he won't have time to harass y'all." He rubbed the corner of one eye. "I'll give him this; at least he was nice enough to give you time off to come see me about her injury," he muttered aloud.

Louise bit her bottom lip. "About that…I didn't exactly _tell_ him where I was going. Or _that_ I was going."

"Mmm. Then how did you get away?"

She gave McCoy a sheepish look. "I had to cancel my holo-kayaking session this morning, and when I looked at the schedule, I noticed Captain Kirk had a racquetball game reserved tonight. So I _might've_ hinted to Dr. Beegus that the captain had invited him to play a round or two."

 _You might've…_ McCoy covered his face with one hand, shaking his head. "'Invited him?'"

"Challenged him, actually. The Physiter used to be quite a good athlete in medical school. Still is, to hear him tell it," she added, reaching for the bottle again and pouring herself a little. She gripped the glass in her good hand and sighed. "I'm in deep trouble, aren't I?"

"Don't worry about it," McCoy mimed zipping his lips shut. "I won't breathe a word." _Poor Jim,_ he thought, watching as the tech drained her glass. _I'd pay good money to see that…_

* * *

"Where's your boss?" McCoy shouted, leaning forward, resting both hands on the console. Keenser didn't look up once, but continued to punch commands into the diagnostic program, his beady little eyes roving over the lines of code. _I'd attribute it to the noise level in this place if I didn't know any better._ He straightened up as another engineering crewman carrying a large coil of cabling under one arm bumped elbows with him.

Blue light glowed against Keenser's Roylan features as he paused to study the analysis. "Come on, Keenser, I know you can hear me. Where's Mr. Scott?" McCoy reached out a hand and shook Keenser's shoulder.

The Roylan turned around, giving him that inscrutable look he was famous for. _I'm never playing poker with you. You'd rob me blind._ McCoy returned the stare, unwavering, until finally the engineer blinked. _Ha. I win._ Tugged on the strap of the goggles that hung around his neck, he pointed towards a length of hydraulic piping that had been emptied and disassembled for repairs. "Up there."

"Thanks." McCoy stepped over an exposed electrical panel, kicking it shut, and strode towards the pipe. Fewer personnel were working in this section, making it noticeably quieter. Stopping near the open end of the shaft, he bent over and looked up towards a right-angled bend. Bright light glowed against the inside surface as an unseen welding torch sprayed sparks into the air. "Scotty? I know you're in there," he shouted up into the pipe. "Have you got a minute?"

A couple of loud thumps echoed against the inside. "Snitch," a muffled voice muttered as the torch shut off. McCoy exited the mouth of the pipe and stepped back. A moment later, Scotty slid down and out, landing on his feet, flipped up the welder's mask he wore and set the torch aside. Dark smudges covered his face. He let out a sigh. "Before you say a word, we are behind schedule and-"

"You're _always_ behind schedule." McCoy crossed his arms over his chest. "Honestly, Scotty, if I didn't know any better, I'd think you were _scared_ of sickbay."

Scott sighed, hands on his hips. "Nae, it's not that," he blinked, rubbing his head. "And to be honest, I've had a wee bit of a headache these last two days, so…" He plopped down onto a metal crate. "Look, I'm sorry. Every time I try to get away, somebody asks me a question or an alert signal goes off, and then I have to- well, you _know_ what it's like. The _Enterprise_ is a grand lady, but sometimes she can be a bit on the cranky side."

"You mean she's a difficult patient?" _Like some people?_ McCoy gave him a knowing look.

"Exactly." Scott removed his heavy duty gloves and laid them aside, wiping his hands on his pants. "All right, then. Can ye fit me follow-up into your schedule today? What with the Physiter, and all?"

The door above them opened, and Lt. Uhura entered, carrying a wok. She waved at one of the engineers, who descended a ladder and came over to her. Uhura handed him the wok and said something to the ensign which elicited a nodding response.

"Doctor?"

"Don't you worry about the Grand Physiter. I've been in full teaching hospital mode all day." He had given Beegus the grand tour of sickbay and its adjunct treatment rooms and laboratories the day before, then introduced the doctor to his patients and discussed and demonstrated treatment protocols, many of which he had invented or perfected.

Beegus, to his credit, had listened politely, being mostly civil to the patients and staff, though McCoy suspected that had more to do with _his_ presence than anything else. _Probably thinks I'm the only person on this whole ship who's anywhere near his level. Was I just imagining that_ "that's not how _I_ would have done it" _look in his eye?_ "Right now, he's on a coffee break. Or rather, a _vinniko_ break." He made a face. "I don't know how he can drink that stuff. It smells like boiled socks."

Scott laughed, rolling his shoulders and neck. "I'll meet you there, Doctor. Just let me get cleaned up first." With that, he walked away and headed up the steps towards, McCoy presumed, the nearest bathroom.

As the doors shut behind the chief engineer, McCoy's eyes tracked across to where Uhura and the other ensign, whom he now recognized as Ensign Wuyen, stood, presumably discussing cookery. The communications officer had been in sickbay earlier in the day complaining of a scratchy throat. McCoy had diagnosed her with a case of Orion strep and prescribed a standard dose of galyxcillin, adding, " _a cold glass of apple juice wouldn't hurt, either._ "

He was about to head back to sickbay when Uhura spotted him. "Hey, Doctor. What brings you down here?" She leaned forward, hands resting on the railing as Wuyen set the wok on a swivel chair, then returned to his duties.

"The case of the tardy engineer," McCoy drawled. "How's the throat?"

"Much better, thank you. Are you still coming to dinner tonight? Spock's showing me how to make chicken soup, Vulcan style. It was going to be Chinese, but…you know." She coughed into one hand.

 _Can't be any worse than vinnok, I suppose. "_ Sure. I'll be there. Is Jim coming?"

Uhura frowned. "Dunno. I asked him, but he said something about having a date with a tube of liniment first."

 _Gee. Wonder why that is?_ McCoy smiled to himself. _Sounds like the Physiter gave him quite a workout._ "Well, I-" He stopped short as Uhura gripped the railing tightly with one hand, eyes closed, and sucked in a breath, pressing the other hand to her chest. "Uhura?"

"I-I don't know wha-" Before she could finish her sentence, Uhura crumpled forward and fell over the railing. In a flash, McCoy darted to the left and skidded to a stop, just in time to catch the falling officer in his outstretched arms. He stumbled backwards under the sudden weight, bracing himself against a stationary chair, which spun slightly on its axis.

Squatting down, he lowered her gently to the ground and began to assess her condition. _Chest pains_ … _I don't like her color, either. Respirations rapid…_ He lifted Uhura's limp wrist and felt for a pulse. _Hummingbird wings_ , _erratic rhythm. Not good…_ Vaguely aware of two computer technicians hovering nearby, he reached for his comm and flipped it open. "McCoy to transporter room. I need priority one transport to medbay…" _And hurry…_

* * *

"I don't _understand_ …"

In a daze, McCoy sat at his office desk and studied the order for what seemed like the umpteenth time. It still read the same; _"4 ccs of galyxcillin, intramuscular."_ He'd already questioned the nurse who'd prepared the dosage for him, and she'd confirmed the amount.

His gaze tracked over to Uhura's bloodwork. After ruling out the potential physiological causes for her arrhythmic tachycardia, he'd ordered a toxicological screen to check for other drug interactions. As she'd still been unconscious, he couldn't ask her if she'd taken a lozenge or drank some herbal tea. _Heck, a bit of Frangean white pepper on her scrambled eggs this morning could've done it. Nobody ever thinks of these things. Not even me sometimes._

But it was neither lozenge nor tea not pepper which had caused her cardiac episode. According to the tox screen, she had _seven_ times the amount of galyxcillin he'd prescribed. _Seven times_. _How?_ Thankfully, she'd responded well to treatments and was now sleeping under the watchful eye of Spock, who had thankfully accepted (for now, anyway) the doctor's vague diagnosis of " _a side effect from her medication"_ .

He glanced out the window. Scotty sat on the edge of a biobed across the room, awaiting the results of a neurological scan. The engineer held a small PADD and stylus, perusing reports from his department, no doubt. _Doesn't that man ever take a break from work?_

"Doctor?" Louise Engstrom stood at the door, her injured wrist in a silver elastic wrap. A PADD was tucked under her other arm. "I have those drug inventory forms ready for you."

McCoy rubbed his weary eyes. "Good. Maybe I can make more sense out of _those_." He grabbed his coffee cup and took a sip. _Ugh. Cold._ Straightening up, he leaned forward and accepted the PADD from her. "Thanks," he added. "If only all my problems could be solved by checking a box on a requisition form."

Louise brushed her bangs aside. "What's the trouble? Maybe I can help."

"Be my guest." He turned the monitor so it faced her. "What do you know about galyxcillin? Had an overdose this afternoon with heart complications, but Sarahbeth just confirmed the amount I ordered for Uhura, and none of the other staff on duty else gave her any."

The tech leaned forward, a thoughtful look on her face. "Hmm…the amount's not consistent with rhenulosium ferride interaction…and her electrolyte levels stabilized with the standard solution?" At McCoy's nod, she shook her head. "I can't think of anything other than a dosage mistake that would cause this. But if you're sure…" She tapped her lower lip with her index finger. "Wait. Give me that back." Grabbing the PADD, she tapped the screen twice, then typed the drug's name into the search bar. "Yup." She passed it back to him. "It definitely came from our supply."

"Whose name's on the sign-out sheet?" Leonard's eyes landed on the order code. _Mine? But I_ didn't… _am I losing my mind?_ He swallowed. "That's impossible. I _know_ I wasn't _that_ distracted."

"Maybe Dr. Beegus saw what happened." Louise played with the edge of her wrist wrap, as though afraid to look him in the eye with her doubts. "He _was_ following you around all morning, after all."

"Yeah." Even as he agreed, a part of McCoy was hesitant to ask the Kwisighi. _I'll look like an incompetent fool if I do. He already thinks our medicine is primitive. The last thing I need is for him to give his government a laundry list of my failings. Still…my duty is to my patients first. No compromise._ "Find him for me, will you?"

"Can do." Louise jumped up from the chair and headed for the door. "You know, having him here in sickbay was a good idea; I think he might be mellowing a bit. I saw him talking to Uhura this morning, and she actually made him laugh."

"I can believe that," he called after her retreating form. "She always seems to bring out the best in people." McCoy reached for the PADD and raised his finger above the search exit button, but something made him pause. _Talking to Uhura this morning…no, that's ridiculous._ He lowered his hand to the table slowly as the suspicion gelled. _But he was following me on rounds. Watching me work. Memorizing my password…no! He's a_ doctor _…he should know better than to-_

"Doctor McCoy." Beegus shuffled into the office door. He had traded his robe of office in for a lighter green garment which hung loosely on his stout frame. His hair had curled in the ambient moisture, and bags had formed under his eyes. _That's more like it, Mister Fancy Pants._ "I was summoned by Technician Engstrom." His lip curled into a pout; clearly he had been left with as unfavorable an impression of her as she had of him.

McCoy extended one hand forward in a gesture he hoped looked more welcoming than he felt like being. "Sit down, Dr. Beegus, please." As the Physiter complied, McCoy pushed himself up from his seat, giving himself every advantage, height-wise. He shut the blinds and moved sideways until he stood by the man's chair, back turned to him, hands clasped behind his back. "I'll get right down to it; I need your help."

Beegus shifted in his seat. "Really?" Even looking away, McCoy didn't miss the condescension in his voice, as though he enjoyed hearing others admit that they needed him. _Easy, Leonard; don't let him rattle you. You have no proof that he dosed her…_

McCoy tented his fingers together under his chin. "We had an… _incident_ earlier today. One of my patients experienced complications from her prescribed medication."

Beegus nodded. "A fairly common occurrence, is it not? In my learned experience-"

"Begging your pardon, Doctor - yes, it is, but that's not what I wanted to ask you." He inhaled deeply, letting the air out slowly. "The patient's going to be fine, but her complications stemmed from an _overdose_ of medication. You met her; Nyota Uhura. She told you some kind of joke?"

The Physiter smiled, revealing a mouthful of rounded teeth. "Oh, yes. She is quite charming, even with a scratchy voice." He leaned forward, cupping one hand to the side of his face. "Do you know if she would be…open to companionship?"

McCoy almost choked on his spit. _Are you seriously asking me if she's_ single _?_ Covering his mouth, he coughed discreetly and shook his head. "Sorry, no, she's already in a relationship." _With a man who could crush you with his bare hands if he wanted to,_ he finished silently. "Look, I just want to know if you, uh, happened to be watching when I ordered her medication. Somebody signed out an amount of galyxcillin corresponding exactly to the extra dosage she received using _my_ password." He paused, waiting for the Physiter to respond.

Beegus swatted at an imaginary insect near his face. "And you want to know if that someone was _I_." He looked as though he wished to do the same to McCoy.

Leonard balled his hand in a fist _. Be nice…_ "Now, I didn't say _that_ , Grand-" he began.

The Kwisighi silenced him with one hand. "But you meant it, truly? I'll save you the trouble of rephrasing your question. Yes, I administered the galyxcillin. If you had given me an access code, I wouldn't have _had_ to use yours."

Leonard's jaw dropped. _He just came right out and said it. Just like that. No chill, no denials…and he has the_ gall _to-_ "What the _hell_ is the matter with you?!" he bellowed, spinning around and pounding his desktop with both hands, causing the Physiter to jump. "Administering _my_ drugs to _my_ patients in _my_ sickbay like they were _candy_ with no thought for what could happen-" He sucked in a breath, willing his head to stop pounding and his temperature to go down. "And you're blaming- you're blaming _me_ for not giving you carte blanche…you are a piece of _work_." _I have several other names for you. Want to hear them?_

"Is that so?" Beegus' lip curled into a sneer. He stood up slowly from his chair and crossed the floor until he was toe to toe with McCoy. "Possibly if you had dosed her correctly in the first place, _Doctor_ McCoy, I wouldn't have _needed_ to intervene."

"If I had _what_?" Leonard scoffed.

The Physiter folded his hands in front of him and regarded McCoy with a severe look. "The goal of medicine is to alleviate suffering, cure the patient if possible, yes?"

 _Damn it, I'm not your student!_ "You and I must have different ideas of what constitutes suffering. I'm pretty sure "heart palpitations" qualifies," the CMO snapped. "Just because you're some high and mighty big shot on Kwisigha does _not_ give you the right to waltz in and poison my people out of your own ignorant arrogance!"

Beegus dismissed his concerns with a hand wave, as though the doctor had just stuck out his tongue and nyah-nyahed him. "You cannot expect to _cure_ a bacterial infection by administering just enough of a drug to build up resistance! It is irresponsible!"

"Really? And pumping a drug you are not familiar with into a patient whose biology is also foreign to you _isn't?"_

"Yes, yes, the effects were regrettable, but no harm has been done," Beegus protested. "She will be fine, and you will have averted an epidemic. All is well."

"No…harm?" _That's it…_ McCoy gripped the man by both shoulders and looked him square in the eyes. "Damn it, you thick-headed moron! She almost broke her _neck -_ almost _died_ because of _you_! From the moment you stepped aboard this ship, you've been _nothing_ but trouble - abusing our hospitality, demeaning my staff, violating every rule in the book. I've tried to be accommodating, but no longer! You clearly have no respect for anyone but yourself. Now, _get out of my sickbay_ , or so help me, I'll knock you into the next star system!" He raised one shaking arm towards the door, feeling adrenaline course through his veins. "Just. Get. _Out. Now,_ " he hissed. Grabbing Beegus once more, he spun the man around and shoved him towards the door., which opened before him. "Don't make me call security."

Beegus stopped in the doorway, brushing one hand across the front of his shirt. "Fine," he barked. "I can see there is nothing more I could possibly learn from your people." With one last huff, he stalked away angrily, ire coming off of him in waves as he stomped past members of the medical staff.

McCoy puffed out a breath of air, one elbow resting on the doorframe. _Phew. Glad that's over._ Slumping his shoulders _,_ he cracked his knuckles one by one, releasing the leftover tension one satisfying pop at a time. _Hoo boy. Jim's going to kill me…_

* * *

The rest of the day passed uneventfully. Grand Physiter Beegus shut himself up in his guest quarters, refusing Kirk's dinner invitation, claiming to be on the verge of a "significant scientific breakthrough". _Fat chance and good riddance._

Tinnel, on the other hand, had graciously accepted, glad for the break from running diagnostics on the _Hamnask_. _And from her boss, too, I imagine._ According to Scotty, the Copholot woman had seemed genuinely surprised when the captain had come down to personally extend his offer, as though she was used to being left out. _Big surprise there._

Uhura woke up later that afternoon, no worse for wear, and confirmed that Beegus had indeed given her another dose of medication after McCoy left. "I just figured you'd asked him to help out," she added, covering her mouth with a hand and yawning. "Sorry."

McCoy patted her other hand gently. "Don't apologize. It wasn't _your_ fault." He studied the readout on her monitor and smiled. "Everything looks good. You shouldn't have any more difficulties, but I want to keep you in overnight just to be sure. Get some rest."

She smiled tiredly. "Sounds great to me. Thanks for breaking my fall." Her hand found Spock's and squeezed it. The Vulcan stood on the other side of the bed, his expression guarded. As she shifted against the pillows, he removed a small bowl of grape gelatin from her lap, setting it on the bedside table.

Spock lifted his head and locked eyes with the doctor. "As I believe he might say, it was your lucky day." At a nod of his head, they crossed the room and stood near the window together. The Vulcan cleared his throat. "Barring any further delays, we should be arriving at Kwisigha Starpost 3 at 0700 hours tomorrow." He flexed the fingers of his right hand. "I will not be sorry to see him leave, Doctor, ambassador or no." Judging by his tone of voice, McCoy had the distinct impression that the only things stopping Spock from smashing the Physiter's face in were his Vulcan heritage and Starfleet training. _Get in line…_

"Amen to that." A sharp rap on the window caused them both to look up. McCoy parted the privacy blinds with his hand. Kirk stood on the other side, hands at his sides, a stern look on his face. _Oh boy. Here we go…_ "If you'll excuse me?" He didn't wait for Spock to answer, but slipped out the door of the hospital toom. Kirk, eyeing him, said nothing, but turned in the direction of McCoy's office. McCoy sighed, falling into line behind him, dreading the next few moments. _Judgment day._

Once inside, he remained standing. _This is still my office, after all._ The irony of the situation was not lost on him. Not 6 hours ago, he'd blasted the Grand Physiter in this very room; now, Jim was about to give _him_ what for. _Don't worry, Jim; I'll take my medicine like a good boy. You can demote me, fire me, put me in the brig for the duration of the five-year mission if you want._ _I still wouldn't change a damn thing._

Kirk took up a position against the door, arms crossed over his chest. _Blocking the exit so I won't try to escape?_ For a minute they just stood there, watching each other, each waiting for the other to speak first.

The captain broke the silence. "I had a little talk with Dr. Beegus about the _incident_ this afternoon. During our conversation, I made it _abundantly_ clear that under _no_ circumstance is he to interfere with the care of any patients on board the _Enterprise_ in any way for the duration of his stay." He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I also informed him that I would be filing a formal complaint with the Kwisigha Medical Bureau, a copy of which would be forwarded to Starfleet Command."

McCoy tipped his head to one side. "Really? Bet _that_ took the wind out of his sails."

Kirk gave him a tight-lipped smile. "You could say that. He sputtered a bit and told me he intended to file a counter-complaint about _you_ , but I wouldn't worry about it. I got the impression it's not the first time someone's complained about his bedside manner. Besides,", he added, stretching both arms above his head, "anybody who's spent more than ten minutes in his company knows he's a royal pain in the backside." He rubbed his lower back, groaning. "Literally _and_ figuratively."

 _Racquetball_. Leonard chuckled. "He really whupped you good, huh?"

"Beat me four straight." Kirk shrugged, wincing slightly. "For a little guy, he sure is _fast_." He held up an index finger. "As for you… look, Bones, just because I'm letting you off with a warning _this_ time doesn't mean you can just mouth off to every visiting dignitary who crosses you. Starfleet protocol exists for a reason, after all. We're out here to make _peaceful_ first contacts, not start wars. As representatives of-"

"Jim," McCoy interrupted, placing one hand on the captain's shoulder, "when you're through reciting the party line, would you let me know? I've got paperwork to finish."

Kirk jerked away from the doctor's hand, laughing. "All right, all right. But I'll be expecting you in the officer's lounge in one hour for a "debriefing". Got it?" He tapped his wrist with one finger, then tipped back his head and mimed raising a glass to his lips. "Just tell me one thing, though; how'd you ever get up the nerve to give him what for? After all, he's "The Kwisighi Grand Physiter, Highest of Medicos, Phanthippius Mathulios Beegus!"" Kirk mocked, bowing up and down exaggeratedly.

"Listen, Jim," McCoy growled, hands on his hips, "I don't care if he's the Emperor of the entire _Milky Way_ ; nobody, and I mean _nobody,_ puts my patients' lives at risk. Got it?"

"Roger that. One hour," he repeated, tapping his wrist again as he exited the office.

"I'll be there." Leonard stood in the doorway for a moment, then glanced over his shoulder at his computer screen. Several open tabs revealed various reports he had to finalize, tests to order, analysis results to pore over. He rubbed his eyes. _Physically, that is. Mentally? Whole 'nother story…_


End file.
